


Steel Feathers

by AgentSyx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Love Triangles, Smut, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentSyx/pseuds/AgentSyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've been brutally tortured by Crowley. Your three fellow hunters have come to the rescue, but not until after the damage is done. You've been scarred in more ways than one. With the three fighting for your affections, just how far are they willing to go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crowley Was Here (Part One)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey dudes! This is my first work published here, so any comments will be noted! (just don't be a buttcake. Nobody likes a buttcake.)

You try to squint through the burlap sack that’s been slung over your eyes, but the fabric is too thick and it smells like peanuts. You’re being tossed about like a ragdoll. Not something you enjoy, by the way. Your ass slams onto the corner of something sharp as they haul you up over it. The corner of a table, maybe? “Ow! You fucker!” you growl between clenched teeth. Your left buttcheek throbs with pain even as it’s pressed down onto a smooth, cool surface.  
Only when you’re strapped down by your ankles and wrists is the bag yanked from your face. A bright overhead lamp pierces your eyes like millions of tiny swords and the smell of burning flesh and hot metal fills your nose. When you can finally open your eyes without them burning from the light, you see a shortish figure standing over you wearing an apron over his trim black suit. His smile is strangely attractive, but it gives you the creeps as he uses it like he is. “Hello, (y/n).” he says in his thick accent.  
“Crowley, you fucker, I thought you ran off.” you spit back. You try not to look at yourself, because you can feel the cool basement air on every inch of your skin and you’d rather not see your naked body and it’s scars.  
“Well, that was before I knew you stabbed me in the back.” he turns away from you and starts to shift things on a metal slab that’s out of your sight. From the sounds they make, they’re metal and very sharp. You try not to panic. You've been tortured by humans before, and that was bearable. But a demon? Yikes.  
“Yeah, you were a bit slow on the draw, weren't you?” you ask calmly. You calmly repeat to yourself, I have faith in the Winchester brothers. They’ll find me.  
He chuckles and picks something up that glints from the overhead lamp right into your eyes. “Well, I was putting my trust in a fool with big tits. Guess I could’ve tried more. But that’s what I get, I suppose.” when he turns you can see what he has in his hands - a long, curved blade with a leather hilt stained with blood. You swallow a bit, bracing yourself for the slices. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?” he places the edge of the blade ever-so gently across the inside of your elbow. “Where are the Winchesters?”  
Without thinking, you say “On the corner of Go Fuck Yourself.”  
The blade swipes across your skin and parts it neatly, but deep enough to send a stream of blood down your arm and onto the slab you’re strapped to. You bite your tongue a little, trying not to breathe so heavily. He smirks and moves, setting the blade down back on the tray. “Do you want to try that again?” he asks, fishing through all of his goodies.  
You shrug - well, as much as you can shrug while strapped tightly to a table. “Well, I mean, it’s not doing anything for me. What about you?” You sound confident, but your arm aches and your shoulders are crushed against the table and there’s a fucking itch on your nose that won’t go away.  
When he turns around this time he has a small canister of salt in which he pours directly onto the open wound. This time you can’t help but groan a little. He’s smart to wear gloves as he rubs the salt deeper into the cut. You clench your fists. “There, there, we’re just getting started, you and I. Let me ask again - where are the Winchesters?”  
You look up at him, gathering all of the saliva you can in that second, and spitting it right into his face. He closes his eyes, wiping it off with the back of his hand. Without warning he wheels around, grabs another knife, and digs it into your thigh with three deep sawing motions. This time you gasp and writhe in your seat. “Holy shit.” you pant.  
“You bitches just can’t let up, can you?” he takes the serrated edge of the knife and drags it up the outside of your hip, lifting it and then making a few slashes over your exposed breasts. When you scream, he laughs and starts to carve into your stomach. “Are those boys really worth the trouble? Really?”  
In defiance you retort “Ask yourself the same damn thing.” though you feel the harsh sting of the blade and the iciness of your skin burning at the touch of the spilling blood. He hacks more at your breasts using long thin strikes just deep enough to draw blood.  
Finally he drops the knife and picks up a long thorned spike. You feel your blood go cold as he grips it in his fists. You close your eyes, thinking, they have to get here. They have to.  
The first blow to your face catches your temple all the way down to your jaw. The next your cheek on the other side. He beats his way down my body, and with each strike, he repeats, “Tell me! Tell me!” and each time you reply with something clever like “Go fuck yourself” or “Your mom’s place.”  
He finally stops at your thighs, face red with exertion and anger. “Fine. Lets make this a little more personal.”  
You laugh out loud despite the rawness of your body. “What? So this isn’t personal enough for you-”  
He cuts you off by yanking your legs apart and digging at your member with flicks of his wrist. This time you scream, like, really loud. He laughs and starts to slowly push the end of the thorned rod into you. With each thrust he twists it.  
You go completely cold with pain. He’s tearing at you, your insides. You’re bleeding from every orifice now. The first real thought you have is, I’ve never had sex before. I would be considered a virgin. But this, this breaks so many morals all at once. Like he’s ripping chunks of you out. You’re completely exposed and bleeding and trembling out from pain. You feel your throat burn as you let out harsh screams that crack your throat. You scream so loud Crowley actually hisses and yanks the thing out.  
Sam kicks open the door just in time to see Crowley pull the weapon out from inside you, dripping with you blood. You start to cry excessively, wishing you could die. Dean stumbles in with blood on his own demon knife to see you laid out on a table covered in blood and shame. “Hello boys.” Crowley says. With how much you’re crying, he rolls his eyes and with the snap of his fingers duct tape is stuck across your lips.  
Dean’s voice cracks. You watch him go pale. His knife falls from his hands, as if in slow motion, to hit the floor. You can’t help but shake your head and whimper even more. You’re so cold. So tired.  
Crowley sets the weapon with your blood on it aside and wipes his hands on his apron. You lock eyes with Sam, who looks so broken it hurts. “Glad you could come. We were just talking about you.” the king of hell adds calmly. “Well, I was. Little miss (y/n) here was being a good little soldier and keeping quiet. She should make you proud.”  
“You son of a bitch!” is all Dean says before starting towards you. I just want to die, you think desperately. Crowley pops up in front of him and shoves him back and into a wall with a twitch of his hand.  
“I’m afraid a reunion isn’t possible right now, boys. We’ve got things to discuss.” the demon explains.  
“(Y/n), are you alright?” Sam asks. You go to nod but there’s an icy numb that grabs ahold of your neck with it’s little fingers and keeps it still. You start to feel heavy. You groan a little into the duct tape.  
“She’s fine. We had a blast waiting for you two to join us. Isn’t that right, (y/n)?” Crowley clamps his firm hand down on one of your breasts making sure to dig into the slices. You almost scream as loud as you had before. Your hands shake in desperation to be free. You start to get dizzy. Your stomach threatens to betray you.  
“Stop it! Stop it right now, Crowley!” you hear Dean as a distant, raging voice. Like you’re sinking deeper into cold waters listening to people talk on the surface.  
“Or what?” he challenges. “What could you possible do-” A fluttering of wings and a muffled thud signals the appearance of Cas, who stretches out his hand in warning.  
“Step away from (y/n), Crowley.” he growls. You feel the pool of blood you’re lying in, the separation of skin in so many places. Your vision slowly darkens.  
Crowley sighs. “Right.” and with that, he’s gone. Cas looks around, his eyes landing on you last. Something breaks inside of him, something that makes you turn away in shame. You really thought you could handle this hunt. You really did.  
“I must go after him, Dean. If we don’t track him now-”  
“Yeah just go.” Dean replies quickly. He’s at your side tugging on the straps so quickly it makes you dizzy to see him move. Cas flits off immediately. Your body trembles so much it takes him a few tries to undo the first wrist strap, then the second. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay, (y/n)? Everything’s going to be peachy.” he mutters things similar as he works on each strap. You’re strangely aware of how naked you are yet too tired and too dull to really care. The feel of tears on your face makes you whimper just a bit more. You can still feel the cold bite of metal as it twists and moves inside of you. It’s bone-chilling. Once your limbs are free, Dean makes his way back up and cradles your face. There’s a darkness in his eyes and a firmness to his grasp that sets you on edge. You try to move but everything hurts. It just hurts. “Hey, talk to me.” he says softly. With his thumb and forefinger he slowly lifts the edge of the tape from your mouth and drags it off. You try not to wince but it rips away from some of the cuts on your cheek. “Sorry, sorry sorry.” he cooes. Even his soft breath on your face makes it sting.  
His hands snake around you to help tug you upwards in a sitting position. All you can think is No, no, no. as your stomach folds inward and gushes violently with each movement. From there he shrugs off his long leather coat and drapes it over your shoulders. You bite back your groan at the stinging of open flesh grinding against open flesh. You see spots even.  
You can’t help but latch onto him as he lifts you from the slab and threads his arm under your knees and around your shoulders. You can feel his arms tremble with your weight for a minute. Your blood drips down his front like he’s wringing out a washcloth. I’m disgusting, you realise. His chest hums as he speaks. “Sam? Cover me.”  
What comes next it mostly a blur - you see Dean’s jaw and the crook of his neck silhouetted by cracked ceilings and pipes as he carries you out of the basement. From there he lowers you into the back seat of the impala, hesitates, and gets in as well to hold you and keep you covered by his jacket. Am I dying? I hope so, you think bitterly. This is bad, and I can tell. You find a smidget of strength to slur “Kill me, please.” before feeling yourself get so heavy that you go limp against the panting Dean and your eyes fall closed.


	2. Crowley Was Here (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has the sick bastard done to you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dudes! Just wanted to put a little footnote here - things are gonna get pretty dark and gross. There's a lot of...er....'adult' content here, or at least reference to it. If you get offended than I suggest you don't read further. ^.^

At first the voices are muffled and you’re numb everywhere. You’re stiff, aching under the seemingly dead flesh that used to be yours. You still feel his clawlike grip on the spike as he drives it into you. The pain of it ripping you apart from the inside. Crowley’s hands feel up the inside of your thighs mockingly, almost relishing. His voice is a hiss grating your ears. “Now, what should we do next? I have a few more tools we could use, darling. Take your pick.”” even as he strokes the tray you can just barely see, you know the tool he’s considering isn’t one of those. Still, he picks up a short, blunt rod and, with a snap of his fingers, it turns red hot and he jams it right into your outer thigh.  
Your scream escapes from your mind and through your cracked lips in a whimper. It makes you cringe when you feel real hands pressing something just as hot and just as painful into your upper leg. You squirm under the firm touch only to feel almost every part of you (save your legs, obviously) wrapped in thick bandages. You can only assume that’s what they are, at least. The object stills and immediately lifts away. A hand taps your cheek gently, you hear a soft, growling voice right by your ear. “(Y/n)? Hey, welcome back.”  
Opening your eyes feels like a chore but you finally lift your lids open to see a face, shadowed by a lamp shining from behind him and onto you. At first you think it’s Crowley, bringing a stone to crash through your chest in fear. But the blurriness in your eyes lifts slowly and instead of seeing brown eyes, you see green ones, dark hair traded for light messy hair. The pronounced jawline gives you the first hint of who it is. You almost calm down, almost crack a smile. But the stiffness of so many bandages and the ghost of Crowley’s hands on you rips any shred of peace that you might have conjured. You sit up quickly to take in your surroundings. “Woh, (y/n), don’t sit up, seriously.” Dean places a damp hand on your shoulder, and you turn to see that it’s soaked in blood. Yours? Probably. You don’t say anything, though. You can’t find anything to say.   
Lifting your arms carefully, you see that you are indeed riddles with thick bandages. There’s one wrapping the first cut Crowley made, on the inside of you arm, there’s a couple on the other arm. From there it’s a total shit storm of wrappings, starting from one shoulder down to your collarbone and not ending until your legs. Your guess is Dean had started on your thighs when you woke up. A small basin of murky water and a washcloth lay by the bed.   
The stomach bandages, from you suddenly moving, slowly start to hint at crimson from seeping blood underneath. It makes you nauseous to see so much carnage on yourself, but what you feel now is nothing compared to what takes over when you see the opaque pool of blood between your legs, dried but still caked.   
You can’t pry your eyes away, you can’t drop your arms to you sides. You’re just frozen there looking at the blood, and the scars and the disfiguration running up the inside of your legs from what that demon did to you. Dean tries not to stare, he tries to not shake with his words. “You were...uh, you were in pretty bad shape...” he starts softly. Even then you flinch at the new voice in your head. “...Cas tried to heal the....er...worst of it, but he was pretty drained from chasing Crowley through different time zones he couldn’t finish the job.”   
The name you hear sends a spark of life through you. The angel. “Cas? Is he okay?” you find yourself croaking. Something passes in Deans face, his jaw clenching with a deep swallow.   
He almost doesn’t answer. “He’s taking a breather.” nodding to the couch on the other end of the motel room, Dean watches your gaze go from your hands to where Cas is. Something dies inside of you to see Castiel huddled in the corner of the couch with his knees up. He’s drenched in his own sweat and yet he shivers as if he’s stuck in a chilly rain storm. His eyes are red and puffy to top it all off.  
‘Cas?’ you ask silently. You can’t muster your own voice and you know Castiel can hear you. He doesn’t flinch at your words.   
‘I am fine. I wish I could have done more, (y/n).’ is his quiet reply. Your eyes get heavier at the attempt of crying again. You feel so broken.  
‘No. Don’t even fucking say that.’ you snap back harshly. A sharp pain in your leg draws your attention back to Dean, who has the needle and some dental floss. He’s pinching one of the few remaining gashes on your leg, trying to prep it for the first stitch. You grimace in disgust, snatching the needle from him. “I’ll finish this.” you say softly. Dean watches your shaky hands and reaches for the needle again - you jerk it from his reach.   
“(Y/n), don’t do this to yourself.” he says gruffly.  
Your eyes narrow. “Fuck off.”  
“(Y/n)-”  
“I will fucking stab you. I will.” you warn bitterly. Your eyes get super hot and they start to sting. But you have enough strength left in you to blink them away to keep your glare on Dean just as angry. His green eyes falter, but fall from your own (e/c) ones. He knows how strong you are, how bull-headed you can be. He’s tried to defy your stubbornness with no avail before. He can tell, though, just by the brokenness in your stare, at the subtle quiver in your lip, that he might just win this one. Which almost makes him feel worse.  
“I don’t doubt that.” he says to you, reaching for the needle. When you try to move it from his grip, he’s able to snatch the floss connected to it and yank it from you swiftly. You make a grab for it but he stops you with a firm hand on your wrapped shoulder. You try not to wince at the biting pain that engulfs you. You fail though, almost gasping with white-hot fury. Dean retracts his hand immediately. “Sorry, sorry-”  
With his guard down, even through the throbbing of your shoulder, you take the needle back and kick him away. “Don’t touch me!” you hiss. With the intense fury drowning your features and wild strands of your (h/c) hair in your eyes, Dean see’s you as something he would hunt. Like a monster.   
Sam walks into the motel room balancing a few grocery bags in his arms to see you sitting up wielding a needle, Dean on his knees with his hands up in surrender, and Cas shivering on the couch. He pauses, bags in hand, his brow furrowed in confusion. He watches you for a moment. At the pain in your eyes mixing with the rage creasing your mouth. “You okay, (y/n)?” slowly, he asks. He sets the groceries down on the floor and starts to walk over. The moment your eyes snap up to meet his, he stops mid step.  
“Would you tell your brother to leave me the fuck alone?” you manage. Even your voice cracks a bit.   
“Dean, what’d you do?” Sam accuses.  
Dean throws his hands out angrily. “Nothing! I did nothing! I was trying to patch (y/n) up and she freaked!”  
With each word you hear, you grow more angry. Like maggots are crawling through your veins instead of blood. You begin to tremble harder. With the needle clutched in your fist you swing your feet around and stand to your feet. It takes all you have not to collapse. Your inner thighs and member might have been healed by Cas but the rest of you - patched up or no - hurts like a mother fucker. Instead of crying out you grit your teeth. “Hey, uh (y/n), don’t stand.”  
“I’m fine, Sam.” you growl. Your bed is the farthest from the bathroom which makes you groan internally. Damn, just make it there, You tell yourself. You hold your head high and you suck in your gut as you pass the two brothers. White begins to line your vision along with black shapes and sparks. You get colder and colder. You’re gonna pass out if you don’t sit. Yikes.  
The minute you make it into the small bathroom and close the door you let out a tight breath and slide to the floor. Blood tracks down your legs in ugly streaks. You collapse inside yourself and breathe. You just need to breathe.   
You open your palm to the small needle. You’ve stitched yourself up before with ease. It’s not as painful once you set your mind to it. But it’s what you’re sewing up that makes you cringe. You’ve only been tortured a handful of times, all because you know the Winchesters. The thought of them being responsible for this sets your jaw angrily.   
You pull the towel from the hanger beside you, packing it under your left leg to catch any blood while you sew yourself up. You’re still stiff from head to toe as you untangle the floss from your fingers and ready yourself for the first stitch. What is wrong with me? you ask yourself bitterly. I’m a wreck.  
You hear a knock on the door, a soft one, before Sam says “(Y/n)? Please tell me you’re okay.”  
Biting your lip roughly you respond “Peachy. I’m just finishing up.” you lie. There’s silence before he sighs. After a moment of making sure he’s left you go back to steeling yourself.  
The first stitch makes you gasp, the second you start to tear up. But as you go on the pain becomes more of an aftertaste. Soon you finish that cut and begin to check the other ones to see if they too need stitches. The only other major cut that needs a few sutures that Dean hasn’t taken care of it one that stretches up the outside of your right hip.   
You start at the bottom of it, the needle positioned against the broken skin you pinch together. With a swift push the needle sinks through the first part of your skin and then the next. You pull it through gently and brace yourself to pull it tight and tie it into place. Stitch after stitch, you slowly make your way up the gash until you reach the end. You notice it goes up and under the bandage wrapping your stomach. You’ll have to lift it to do the last stitch.  
Curiosity grabs ahold as you peel the edge of the cotton up to reveal the end of the cut, as well as some neat sutures closing a curved laceration. You bite your lip and begin to sew the tender flesh.   
You want to see the rest of what Crowley did to you so you stand up carefully and you search your body for the hem of the bandage. You find it tucked at the small of your back and you pull it out and start to unwrap it.  
With each strip removed, a series of criss-crossing slices reveal themselves. Up, just under your breast, you see that a rough C had been carved there, sewn up. You feel cold and pale as you rip the rest off. Letters, more letters, strung across your abdomen in quick malicious slashes.   
You turn to face the mirror with your torso bare, and you slap your hand over your mouth to keep from screaming. Your stomach twists sickly as your eyes skim the words over and over in disbelief.   
‘Crowley was here’ is carved deeply into your front, sewn up and still bleeding a bit between the threads. Your elbows hit the counter surrounding the sink, your hand still covering your lips, and you cry. You cry harder than you’ve ever cried before. Harder than when your parents died, harder than when you shattered your collarbone on the sidewalk outside of your old home. You just sob violently into your hands, not caring that the boys can hear you.


	3. Aggression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an injured animal gets cornered, it lashes out. And, quite frankly, that's exactly what you do when the brothers try to keep you from wandering off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey dudes! This chapter might be a bit slow, but I was working on building the relationship between you and Dean. I'm not exactly sure when the next chapter will be up, but I'm aiming for Friday, and no later than Sunday. Also, I LOVE reading you're comments! You seriously light up my days. Got any questions, comments, concerns? Don't be afraid to tell me! Love you guys!
> 
> ALSO: (Y/n) = 'Your Name' and (y/l/n) = 'Your Last Name'

Sam has his forehead against the bathroom door so he can hear you cry. He’d bust into the room and do anything he can to comfort you but he knows that if he so much as looks at you right now you’ll rip his head off. He sighs deeply and wanders over to his bed to sit on it. Glancing at the clock, he reads ‘6:46PM’. You had been sleeping for a good six hours. And to wake up to see your body like that? He buries his face in his hands at the thought. She must be going through her hell right now.  
Cas looks towards the bathroom in concern, but still unable to move. His vessel has betrayed him stamina wise, and he is too weak to find another one. Pure anger envelopes him as her cries continue. He couldn’t catch up to Crowley in time, so he’s currently in the wind. He knows that healing what he could woud be a start. What that demon did to you...it makes Castiel writhe in disgust.  
And then there’s Dean, who sits at the table with a load of his weapons out, cleaning them quickly and thoroughly. He counts the many things he’s going to do when they catch Crowley. So many dark, malicious things.  
Cas forces himself up from the couch. “We....we must do something.” he manages slowly. Dean throws the rag and gun he’s been cleaning onto the table, turning to the angel with eyes ablaze.  
“You fucking think so?” he snaps. His lips curl into a smile but there’s no amusement in it. Like a snarl, really. “Do tell us what other painfully obvious ideas you have!”  
“Dean.” your soft voice breaks the three, and they turn to see you standing in the doorway. 

Your body is sore from the combination of violently crying and the nasty wounds Crowley doned on you. But you had managed to finish the stitches, wrap your body tightly once more, slid on one of Sam’s gigantic flannel shirts he left on the sink from last night, and walk out of the bathroom without collapsing. You try not to make eye contact with any of the boys for fear they could see the emptiness inside. “Dean.” you scold softly. If you speak too loudly it sends humming through your chest, making it unbearable to breathe. “Enough, please.” you add.  
“(Y/n,)” Cas approaches you sloppily. His eyes are puffy and irritated with exertion. You frown and grab onto his arm so he doesn’t fall. “I would have done more. I would have lifted the scars-”  
You shake your head at him. “It’s not your problem anyway.” you reply heatedly. You finger the sleeves of the flannel, begging to find some comfort in the soft fabric. You find none save the lingering smell of your favorite sasquatch. “Take a nap or something. You look like you need it.” you add dryly. The look of his heavy, dull eyes makes you shudder. He’s guilty.  
“Practice what you preach.” quips Dean. When you go to send him a glare you notice he isn’t even looking at you. He has another handgun in his palm, a damn rag scrubbing at it’s barrel.  
“I think what Dean means to say, is you should probably get some rest too.” Sam chimes in softly. You look at him sideways questioningly. It’s true - your skin feels like it can sluff off any moment, your head is pounding and your eyes are puffy, but you won’t tell them that. Not a chance.  
You force a scoff and begin to walk to your suitcase under your bed. “I’ve slept enough, Sammy. What I need is a burger and a beer.” you lie. Truth is you just need to get out of here. You need to get away from the boys. You need to get away from everything. And maybe getting shit-faced in a bar somewhere can help. It usually does. You pull out a pair of jeans and an old band tee shirt to wear instead of Sam’s big flannel. In addition you grab the most comfortable bra you own and a fresh pair of panites before hiking back into the bathroom and shutting the door before any of the boys can say anything.  
You don’t look at yourself in the mirror while you dress. You don’t want to see how nasty your body is. Putting on the jeans makes you nauseous, with the constriction of the design that hugs your hips tightly, it digs into your wounds painfully. You bite your lip and you shake your head angrily. Too late; you don’t want to do the walk of shame past the boys to get a different pair. You clip your bra on carefully, adjust it, and slip the shirt on. This one’s loose enough to not hurt, but small enough to show a bit of your bandaged hip and arms. Fuck.  
You steel yourself and exit the bathroom with your (h/c) hair combed. You slide on your shoes quickly and you grab your bulky purse. Dean stops you. “Look, (y/n), I know you don’t-”  
You laugh bitterly. “You don’t know diddly-shit about me! Now let me by before I beat your ass.”  
“In your state? I highly doubt you can take me in a fight.” he warns darkly. He presses his hand on the door in front of you and leans into it, as if to say you’re not going anywhere. “Just, stay here for a while. Relax. Sam’ll pick you up some grub.” he tries. You raise a brow.  
There’s a flashing look of pain in Dean’s eyes that makes you hesitate to respond. You look down to your shoes with a sigh. “I’m fine, Dean. Really, I am.”  
His nose lifts to the ceiling in agitation before looking back down at you. “Don’t pull that on me, (y/n!) I wasn’t born yesterday!”  
“Yeah? Well you’re treating me like I was!” you snap back. It’s odd, how the irritation of your body and mind seem to combine to clear your thoughts. “I’m not some kid that you’re babysitting! I’m an ADULT! I can do whatever the fuck I want!”  
“I’ll start treating you like an adult when you start acting like one-”  
You’re hand snaps up to collide with Dean’s rough cheek so hard your fingertips go numb for a second. When his head rockets to the side from the impact, you take the chance to push him from the door and open it. It takes you a moment to register what you’re actually doing, and you feel breathless in the bad way. You’ve never felt so betrayed, mistreated, and abused before. “Don’t say that to me. Don’t you EVER say that to me.” you hiss. Your eyes are so dry right now, that even as you tear up, it feels like you’re blinking sandpaper.  
He touches the swelling welt where your hand made contact, grimacing and keeping his jaw clenched so he won’t say something cruel. Usually he’s fine with getting slapped by women - it’s nothing new to him - but from you? Shame reddens his cheeks at the thought of you being so angry with him that you actually hit him out of spite.  
Sam jumps in before it’s too late. “(Y/n,) we’re just worried about you. I mean, we all know how you can get....”  
“Bullheaded?” Dean shoots quickly, before sinking deeper against the wall at your burning glare.  
“....I was gonna say stubborn, Dean.” Sam continues cautiously. He watches your body for any signs he can use - your stiff shoulders, your trembling legs. By his guess you won’t make it to the parking lot without collapsing. But that’s just who you are; strong and determined to make sure people know it. “You’re going to get hurt. We’re trying to look out for you, here.”  
You close your eyes in attempt to keep the tears at bay but you fail. Even your lip starts to quiver. “Damnit, Sam.” your voice shakes slightly. “I said I’m fine. I just need to clear my head.”  
“You can always do it here. Seriously, (y/n).” Sam closes the distance between the two of you, his eyes soft and his lips slightly tugged up. Like a puppy, really. When he makes it to you, he reaches behind to grab the doorknob and pull the door closed. “And besides, it’s not like I’m going to let you leave. Not when you’re this shaken up.”  
“You wanna bet?” you challenge weakly. Sam grips your unharmed shoulder and looks you in the eye.  
“(Y/n,)” is all he says. You cringe on the inside when you realize you don’t have anything clever to say, so you glance behind the giant to his brother, who has his head against the wall, eyes lifted towards the ceiling. Like a scolded pet.  
You let one more tear trace your cheek before you shrug Sam off and say “Fine. Alright, fine.” and turn on your heel to move to the couch. Instantly two bulky arms scoop you up bridal style off of your feet. You yelp and struggle as much as you can without ripping out your stitches. “Sam! Damnit, Sam! Let me down!”  
He chuckles as he carries you over to the couch himself. “Relax, (y/n)!” he manages through laughs. Finally you fall limp across his arms with a huff.  
“I hate you.”  
“Sure.”  
It’s only now that you realize Cas is gone. Like, nowhere in the room. You look around as Sam sets you on the couch gently. “Where’s the angel?” you ask.  
Immediately the brothers scan the room. “He must have left when we were arguing.” says Sam.  
You roll your eyes. “We weren’t-”  
“I have to go out anyway to pick up some food, maybe I’ll run into him then.” Sam cuts off quickly. He smiles at you in response to the dangerous glare you give to him. “It’ll be quick.”  
“I hope you get hit by a car.” you retort bitterly. He ruffles your hair before straightening and heading out the door with the keys to the impala and a few bucks in change. Now it’s just you, and Dean.  
You can feel how heavy your hand is from the hit, how cold it suddenly feels. Guilt gnaws at you at the sight of Dean sitting at the table again, cleaning his weapons feverishly. It’s completely silent save for the gentle clicks and clunks of handguns. Finally, you can’t take it.  
You haul yourself up off of the couch with gritted teeth and you limp over to the seat across the table from him. He doesn’t look up from his task. It’s irritating for you because he’s obviously furious but he’s so good at hiding it. The little bastard.  
You eye his reddened cheek that’s grown a small welt faintly in the shape of a few of your fingers. You know you hit him hard, but did you seriously hit him THAT hard? Yikes. Shame creeps its way into your own cheeks in a red flush. You look down to your lap and gnaw at your lip. You really should apologize. You gear yourself up to return to your feet, and when you do, a wave of nausea slams into you to make you lean into the table. Dean tenses as if to want to catch you, but you notice he pushes that urge down to continue cleaning.  
Once you get your bearings back you force yourself to hobble into the kitchen area to bunch some ice into a damp washcloth and pull your chair up next to him. You sit, your knees touching his thighs. You clear your throat softly. “Dean,”  
He glances at you side-long, trying to look mad but just looking like a spanked puppy. More guilt squeezes your chest tighter than the bandages wrapping them. You set the washcloth on your lap, swiping the older brother’s greasy one and tossing it aside. He grabs for it but you’re too quick. “(Y/n!)” he growls. He still won’t look you in the eye, which hurts. You’ve hit him before, albeit not as hard or under such tense circumstances, but you’ve still hit him. Why is now SO different?  
“Look at me.” you instruct sternly, cupping his chin softly and directing him to face you. A small smirk tugs at your lips to see how little he’s struggling. With the now cold ice-and-washcloth-pack, you slowly place it against the welts. He jerks a bit so you move your free hand to cradle from the hook of his bristled jaw to the nape of his neck. You focus on dabbing the puffy red spots with the icy pack, trying to find something to say. With a deep breath, you start, “...I-”  
“(Y/n), don’t. It’s fine. I was being a dick.” he cuts off dryly. His reaction makes you blink up at him, lifting the pack from his face in shock. Instead of guilt, you start to feel anger.  
“No. You were right about me being bullheaded. I should have listened to you guys. Leaving would have been a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have hit you.” you counter softly. You return with pressing the pack to his face.  
You can feel his jaw clench under your palm as he looks away. “Maybe this is a conversation for some other time.” he tries. That comment makes you tilt your head in confusion, taking the pack away.  
“Are you serious?” you fume. “How is this NOT a good time to talk about this? I mean, we’re alone, aren’t we?”  
Dean’s reaction to you pointing out that you guys are alone makes you almost regret the statement entirely. He clenches his fists, pressing his forearms into the table in front of them. “What I mean is I think we should save this for when we’re both calm and-”  
“I AM CALM!” you snarl, almost laughing from the anger surging inside of you. He just won’t take any apologies, will he? You take a deep breath before continuing. “Dude, just....hear me out, okay?” you plead, forcing eye contact.  
He shrugs reluctantly. “Okay.”  
“I. Am. Sorry. I was a Mega-Bitch-”  
“(Y/n!)-”  
“-and shouldn’t have hit you.” you touch the easing welt gently. “Seriously.”  
Sam opens the door with a few bags of what only could be food, to see you and Dean almost nose-to-nose, your hand on his cheek and a sheepish smile on your face. He clears his throat. “I take it you guys made up?”  
You spring from your seat despite the biting pain it gives you, sneering at him jokingly. “Shut up! I apologized. Big deal.”  
“YOU apologized? (Y/n - y/l/n)? Apologising?” Sam asks in disbelief. He sets the bags down on the table, pushing aside some of Dean’s weapons to make room. “Wow, Dean. What’d you say?”  
Dean cringes like a bunny in headlights. “What? Nothing!” he stands quickly, pretending to stretch his arms. “I’m hitting the head.” he grumbles as he closes the bathroom door behind him. You grin a little bit, feeling like you’ve won. A yawn escapes you suddenly and you find yourself walking towards your bed. You freeze when you see the mess that’s been left there - a pool of your blood, numerous streaks against the sheets, discarded bandages and strips of clothing. You swallow the thick bitter bile that coats the back of your throat. Nope. Nope nope nope.  
You turn on your heel and stalk towards the couch. It might be stiff and itchy but at least it’s not reeking of your pain and torture. Someone’s gonna have to clean that up before a maid finds it. Wouldn’t want the cops on your tail, would you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dudes, the next chapter is going to be late due to some home life drama - I'm trying as best I can but things aren't really going too well for me. Please don't hate me!!
> 
> Update: Turns out I have pneumonia... :( I'm trying to work on the next chapter as quickly as I can but I will need some time. Please hang in there!


	4. Hellhounds in Vermont

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally have a dream without the memory of Crowley in it. That is, until you start to wake up and he seems to find a way to mess with you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUDES GUESS WHO'S FEELING BETTER! I was finally able to finish this chapter! Now, because the last chapter was bonding between you and Dean, this one will be between you and Sam. There is a bit of angst, so brace yourselves. This also has a bit of backstory of how you and the brothers met. I'm not sure when the next chapter will come out so hang in there!

You spend the next couple of weeks recuperating in the musty motel room. It’s been agonizingly slow for you - you could be out in the world killing monsters and hunting down Crowley right now. But no. Sam convinced you to play fucking cards.  
So here you are, sitting with your legs carefully crossed on the scruffy carpet in front of the couch, Sam across from you, with the cards displayed between you guys. You’re playing Garbage, a strangely irritating card game, that requires knowing how to count and control your anger. Currently Sam is in the lead, the nine cards lined up in front of him all turned up save one. He needs either a Jack (universal number) or a three to replace that card so he can have a straight row of numbers.  
You only have two of your nine cards upturned with the required numbers. Grumbling, you take a card from the pile beside you. It’s a king - useless. While Sam takes his turn (and gets the three he needed, big surprise) you scratch at the bandage on your arm. It’s itching furiously right now and you can’t do anything about it. It’s like someone took tiny hot needles and jabbed them throughout your stitches.   
“Stop it.” Sam scolds, raking up the cards and shuffling. Because he won that round, he only has to fill in eight cards while you are still stuck at nine. You shoot him a glare but remove your hand from your inflamed arm. Part of you wishes Cas were here to heal you, but the other part turns bitter at the thought. You haven’t seen him in weeks, ever since you hit Dean really really hard. Where the fuck is he?  
“It itches.” you grumble in response. Sam shakes his head and deals out the cards. You let out an exasperated sigh, steeling yourself so you can stand from your spot. White hot streaks of pain shoot up from your heels all the way to your lower back from the sudden stretch. “I don’t want to play cards.”  
Sam looks up at you, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. You’ve been stuck in this room with him for a few hours now while Dean went to meet up with a lead on Crowley. It’s not that it’s been agony spending time with him, it’s just there’s nothing to do. He sighs and scoops up the cards again to place them on the table. “Fine. What DO you want to do?”  
You shrug and look around. You haven’t left this damn room in weeks. If you don’t get out you’re gonna go insane. “We should find a job.” you blurt out sheepishly. You watch Sam stand from his spot on the floor, a look of bitter disbelief gracing his features.  
“Right. Because going out and fighting monsters would be the best thing for you right now.” sarcasm drips from his voice, stinging you.   
“Fuck off. It was just a suggestion.” you lie. There’s nothing to do in the motel room that you haven’t already done. You’ve watched the same three ‘complimentary’ movies back-to-back more than a dozen times, you’ve cleaned and reorganized every nook you could find, you’ve even fixed the creaky air conditioner. “But there’s GOTTA be something weird happening close by. Trouble follows us everywhere, right?”  
He looks at you with a look you can only describe as irritation. He crosses his arms. “It’s only been two weeks since...” at the search of words from Sam, you take the opportunity to jump in.   
“And who’s to say the job we pick up will have anything to do with that bastard? C’mon, Sammy! I’m getting rusty!” you beg, folding your hands in front of your chest and sticking out your lower lip. All he does is roll his eyes.  
“(Y/n), no. It’s not safe.”  
He shoots you a dirty look, and it’s only then that you realize you’d been scratching at the bandage on your arm again. You drop your hands to your side and look at your bare feet. You could really hold an argument against him if you wanted to. You really could. It’s a very rare occasion in which you lose a verbal fight. But for Sam’s sake, you decide it’d be best to settle down and watch a movie. “Let’s just watch Mission Impossible again.”  
The two of you claim sides of the small couch with the movie in, volume up, and left over KFC and tea for snacks. You drink the tea rather heavily, searching for some sort of comfort while being so frustrated you could punch a wall. With each bitter sip though, you only grow more livid. It actually takes a while for you to relax and begin to enjoy the movie. It’s a relief to not feel so tense anymore. You bite back a yawn.  
Slowly you find yourself getting heavy against the back of the couch. A yawn escapes you and you try to adjust yourself to be more comfortable. It’s like there’s a warm pool slowly submerging you and with each blink it sucks you in deeper. The throbbing of your healing stitches turns to a steady ache for a change. You start to relax into the closest thing - Sam’s shoulder.  
Wordlessly he lifts his arm to grant you access to the nook of his side, and you fall into him relieved. The pure warmth of him sends shudders through you, making you smirk a bit to yourself. To top it all off Sam gently drapes his arm back down around you. You can feel his breath in gentle puffs through your hair, the rise and fall of his chest against your cheek. With each of his movements you get heavier and heavier until it’s difficult to keep your eyes open. The bitter taste of the tea sticks to your tongue like tar and it gives you a thought that you can’t get away from. Since when did your favorite tea taste THAT bitter?  
It takes a couple breathes to muster enough energy to speak, and when you do, it’s breathy and slurred. “You drugged me.”  
The arm around you tenses a bit, the thumb tracing your hip curling back in momentarily. “Sorry,” Sam whispers.  
You try to reply but blackness comes in from all sides and you can’t help but feel so relieved that you’re so relaxed. “..f...fuck...” is your last word before passing out completely.  
Sam watches you go limp against him, and he adjusts his arms to keep you from sliding off of the couch. Guilt twists in him at the thought of adding a couple sleeping pills to your drink. You weren’t supposed to drink it so fast to notice the effects, either.   
Sam’s also not stupid. He knows that you haven’t slept at all in the past two weeks ever since they broke you out of Crowley’s place. You either would try to sleep and jolt awake at the slightest brush of a nightmare, or you wouldn’t be able to sleep at all in fear of having one. He can tell that, no matter how brief the dream might have seemed, that you relived every second of Crowley’s torture in it.  
And that’s true. You can’t sleep at night without seeing Crowley standing over you with another weapon to slice you or bludgeon you with. You can still hear his icy laugh in his throat at your screams, the growl in his breaths as he demolishes you.   
This dream, though, is different. It’s more of a memory. Starting out as the smell of a hospital, and the taste of cheap coffee to keep you awake through your shift.

-You’d taken the night shift at Fletcher Allen Hospital that day. It was a slow one at that, with only a few people coming into the emergency room. It was so slow in fact, that you had the energy to pick up the extra shift. You had been living in Vermont, afterall. Not a lot of people did stupid things there unless they were drunk, high, or under twenty one.  
So there you were, threading through the few files from that day, when you heard a child scream from the waiting room. It was about nine thirty at that point.   
You wove yourself from around your desk and made your way to where you heard the scream. There’d been a stomach bug going around so your first thought was the kid had some pain in his abdomen. But the kid wasn’t screaming from pain, and it took you a minute to realize that he was pointing at the double sliding doors at the entrance. A woman came up behind the kid and pulled him away.  
You turned to look at the doors to find two men - the taller of the two doubled over his bloody hands - the shorter one practically carrying the first through.   
You had your pager out immediately to call the other doctors on the floor. Blood was gushing out of what appeared to be a laceration across his stomach that he was trying desperately to keep closed with his fingers. Once the other doctors were paged you sprinted over to take the tall man in support towards the first empty emergency bed you see. “What happened?” you asked quickly. The tall man groaned and stumbled a little.  
“Uh...animal attack.” the shorter one said. You detected hesitation in his voice but decided it’s not the time to find out the actual truth. At the moment you had to get this man’s bleeding under control.   
You finally found an empty bed at the end of the emergency room wing to use, and you laid the man down carefully and swiftly snipped his white linen tee shirt away. You took both that and the flannel shirt off and tossed them aside. With the clothes out of the way you were able to look at the damage.  
Four thick, deep claw-mark shaped gashes are the first thing you saw, which stretched down his abdomen in nasty jagged edges. You swallowed and checked your pager. “Damnit.” you cursed quietly. You had accidentally paged everyone who took the day shift, not the night. What a fool you were.  
You needed to stop the bleeding though, and going on a wild goose chase wasn’t something that you had time for. You turned to the shorter man quickly. His face was splattered in what you could only assume be the taller man’s blood, not to mention up and down his similar flannel clothing. Dirt caked his jeans and boots, tracking the mess all through the hallway. “Look I know you want to be here right now but I need you to go find other doctors for me, okay? Can you do that, sir?” you spoke quickly, fishing through the drawers around you for the things you needed for sutures. The man looked at you with fiery green eyes, and he looked offended that you had asked him to leave.   
After a moment though, he nodded. “Okay.” With one last look at the taller man, he left.  
You turned all of your attention to the man now. His skin was grey from bloodloss, scarred and riddled with marks that you could barely recognise as gunshots and puncture wounds. Your first thought was that he and his companion were criminals, but that didn’t account for the ‘animal attack’.   
You pulled on some gloves you grabbed handfuls of the things you thought you needed. You take a thick cotton cloth and some iodine and wiped down the gashes. Even though you were gentle, the man cried out and gripped the bed sheets. You cringed. “Sorry. I know this hurts.”  
In all honesty, you wouldn’t have believed them. But the injury. Oh, the injury. It’s nothing that could have been done by any blade - no. The edges are too messy and uneven. Think ‘sawing’ motions. The object used for this needed to be curved and rough. Like the claws of an animal.  
But what animal? These are too wide and too far apart to be a black bear or mountain lion. A lot of moose attacks had been reported, but since when did moose have long claws?   
“..W...where’s Dean?” the man asked gruffly. You had to lean in to actually hear him. You cocked an eyebrow, setting down the bloodied cotton cloth and taking out the lidocaine for the sutures.  
“Is Dean your friend?” you asked. You were trying to distract him for when you inject the lidocaine. Something told you, though, that he won’t have a problem.   
“He’s my brother.” the man replied. You nodded in understanding.  
“I sent him to look for the other doctors. This might pinch a little.” as you spoke you pushed the needle into his torn skin, injected a bit, and moved to another spot to do the same. He flinched a little until the area became numb. “My name’s Dr. (Y/l/n). What’s yours?” you asked gently. You poked the area with your fingers to make sure it was numb. He didn’t seem to feel anything as he looks at you skeptically.  
“Sam.” he replied. You gave him a smile and switched out your filthy gloves for another pair.  
“Well, Sam. I’m gonna have to put a few sutures in there. I’ve already numbed the area so it won’t hurt. But you will have to sit still for me.”  
“Where were all the other doctors? It was basically empty when we got here.” Sam pointed out. He adjusted himself so he can sit up a bit more as you prep for sutures. Part of you wondered exactly why nobody else was on the floor with you when the boys had come in, but you had pushed that from your mind at the time.   
“Not a lot of doctors are working the night shift, I guess.” you lied. It had only just dawned on you that you hadn’t seen or heard from anyone all night. You threaded your needle and held it up so he could see. “Okay Sam, I’m gonna start. If you get uncomfortable just tell me, ‘kay?”  
He chuckled a little. “Okay.”  
It had taken you a good forty minutes just to stitch up the first of the four cuts. They had been so deep and so torn open you’re surprised you were able to do it without anybody else to help out. Sam started getting worried when his brother was taking so long - you comforted him by explaining how big the hospital was. But truth was you were beginning to freak out as much as he was. Where the fuck is everybody?  
Two hours later Dean comes stumbling into the hospital room with a few gashes of his own. The acrid smell of rotten eggs - sulfur, maybe? - follows him. Your nostrils flared and you set the needle down. “What the fuck happened to you?” you asked bluntly.   
“Dean?” Sam sat up, asking. You placed a firm hand on his chest and pushed him back down with a glare.  
“Stay down. I haven’t dressed your wound yet.” you scold. Behind you Dean set to work closing the door to the room and setting as many heavy things as he could find in front of it. You cocked your head.  
Let’s see....strange behavior, extreme wounds, scars. These guys were also barricading themselves in the room with you. “Hey, Doc, d’ya got any salt in here?”  
“What?” you shook your head and took the gloves off. You found yourself backing into a corner. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.” you warned slowly. All signs point to run away criminals. Maybe they got caught, and are now locking themselves in here with you as a hostage?  
Total fear sets in and you grabbed the first thing you could reach - a pair of scissors. Sam spoke up, disregarding your orders to stay down to stand. “Dean, what are you doing?”  
“Demons. They’ve taken over the hospital. Whoever they didn’t possess they killed. I walked in on them contacting their boss.” Dean was talking so quickly you almost didn’t understand. But you heard the words ‘demons’ and ‘killed’.  
“What?” your voice cracked and you cleared your throat. You held the scissors up defensively. Sam noticed you first and put his hands up.  
“Hey, we don’t want any trouble-”  
“-The fuck you don’t! No, stay back!” you wielded the scissors in front of you like a true weapon. Sam backs up a bit.  
“It’s not what you think, Dr. (y/l/n). Just let us explain.” his voice was soft but there was an urgency to it that had set your teeth on edge.   
“We don’t have time for this.” Dean snapped icily, approaching you without hesitation and snatching the scissors from you. He pulled them apart without much effort and tossed them into the sink beside you. You stood there, stunned. He pointed an accusatory finger at you. “Look, lady, there’s a lot of crap happening right now, most of it you won’t be able to understand. What I need you to do, is stay calm and don’t get in our way.” he hissed. Your brow dipped low into a snarl.  
“It’s Doctor Lady to you, asshat. And I don’t give a FLYING FUCK if I don’t understand what’s happening. You’re going to explain everything to me or I’m going to ask those ‘demons’ outside!” you growled back, pointing to the narrow window above the sink where three nurses stand. They all had this malicious grin in their faces, framed by pitch black eyes and bloody faces. You watched as Dean and Sam went completely pale.  
Sam spoke up this time, pulling Dean back by the shoulder. “Alright. Fine. Have you ever heard of something called a Hellhound?”-  
And that’s how you met the Winchesters. Sam had been admitted because of a pretty nasty attack from a Hellhound, the demons who owned the animal followed them there to finish the job. You had no idea what you were doing at first, but the moment they walked through the doors that night they had fucked up any plan of a normal life for you. So you decided to join them.  
You’ve gotten way better at fighting, to say the least. Something Dean never forgets to remind you of. But now you’re here, sleeping in the arms of the squatch, trying not to stray away from this dream because you know that the only other option has been haunting you for weeks now. You can still hear Crowley’s laugh, his rough touch running up your body.  
To your horror you start to feel the cold bite of the metal slab against your shoulder blades and the tight straps holding you there. A knife positions itself over your arm.-

You jolt awake and throw Sam’s arm off of you, not realising you’re screaming until his hand clamps around your mouth. His words are incoherent at first, but his other hand runs up your back in soothing circles and you slowly begin to calm down. You’re not in a basement, you’re in the motel room. “.....-(y/n) it’s okay, you’re okay. Hey, look at me!” his eyes find yours, and hold you like a brace. Unwavering, he adds, “You’re going to be okay.”  
Sam’s hand is slick from your sudden burst of crying as he takes it off and cups the back of your neck. “I’m sorry.” you whimper. Sam shakes his head and pulls you into him so you can cry into his shoulder.   
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” he speaks softly into your hair, his grip firm but not tight around your shoulders. You try to take in a breath but it breaks into a sob. You can still feel the cold slab down your back. It’s still there. Sam presses his lips into your (h/c) hair, causing you to nuzzle closer into his neck. You realise you’re trembling.   
Fingers snake their way up your stomach and you hear Crowley’s hissing laugh. You think it’s a knife at first because it hurts. Damn, does it hurt. But at the fingers dig in deeper you pull away to look, and you see that your shirt is soaking through with blood. “Damnit.” you sniffle. “My stitches.”  
Sam dips his head to look at them. There’s a brokenness in his eyes so deep you almost feel guilty. But it’s gone when he stands. “Stay here, I’ll get the first aid.” as he pases you he squeezes your shoulders reassuringly.   
You’d offer to do them yourself, but you don’t have any strength left after your dreams. What happened to the strong-willed doctor that stitched up the brothers and then fought off a horde of demons without so much as a sob? You’re a disgusting wreck now. All thanks to that son of a bitch king of hell. You’re going to kill him. It’s going to happen.  
Crowley will pay for what he’s done to you.


	5. To Siege Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas shows up finally with a plan to break into hell to catch Crowley. You won't get them to listen to reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUDES!!! I'm back! I'm really sorry about the wait, and this chapter is going to be on the short side. But I'm getting sick again and I'm trying to be on the cautious side. Please hang in there!

“Ouch.” you grumble, adjusting your grip on the towel even more. Sam sighs.   
“Sorry.” he whispers back. Without warning he pierces your skin with the needle and pulls the thread through. You groan. There’s always something worse about having to redo stitches. Maybe it’s because the flesh is more tender. Or maybe it’s just the frustration of having to do something all over again.   
“Be gentle with me!” you snap back angrily. White hot pain spikes up from your gut as Sam pulls the latest knot tight to close the open skin.  
“Sit still!” he snaps back just at heatedly. You give him a glare, squeezing the towel once more and letting him continue. He goes through stitch after stitch, cleanly tying them off without pausing. You’ve seen top doctors without that sort of steadiness. It’s kind of scary.   
The door opens to Dean, his jaw clenched and eyes dark with anger. His mouth opens to say something but he stops when he sees you on the couch, Sam’s bloody fingers working with the final stitch. “What happened?” he snaps, thundering over and kneeling in front of the couch. His fingers graze the swollen stitches, almost shoving Sam out of them way.  
You furrow your brow. “Relax. I just ripped my stitches open.”  
“Doing WHAT?” he looks over you worriedly. “Sam, you better not have let her go out on a hunt-”  
Sam sighs, standing and collecting the first aid kit. “No, Dean. Sometimes stitches come undone because you move wrong.” he says softly. Sam catches your eye, and you smile in gratitude. Imagine Dean finding out you ripped them open because of another nightmare.   
“They’re fine now. I’m fine.” you turn the smile onto Dean and watch as his shoulders relax a bit. A stone drops in your stomach when you remember. “Did you find anything on Crowley?” At his name Dean ices over. You know it might have been wrong to ask him about it immediately but you couldn’t help it. You swallow carefully, touching his arm to get his attention. “Dean?”  
“No. Nothing. That son of a bitch’s gone underground. I couldn’t find any leads.” with each word his breaths get ragged and louder. More panicked. “No matter how many demons I torture or kill I can’t get any leads. I-”  
Your hand finds the crook of his neck and you lean forward to reach him. “Hey, calm down. It’s okay.” you try to mask the disappointment in your voice with gratitude but it doesn’t really work. To make things worse Dean can’t look you in the eye. “He’s bound to show up somewhere. He can’t hide forever.”  
“Yeah, sure.” he stands and shrugs off your hand bitterly. It hurts to see him angry. Part of you wants to try to pray for Cas again, but all of the other times it didn’t work. So why should you try now? But the intense wanting to not hurt everywhere clouds your mind.  
“Damnit, Cas.” you whisper. “I need you right now.”  
“(Y/n?)”  
You turn to look over the back of the couch to see your angel stumble over his feet. He still looks so weak, and his puffy red eyes are bubbling with rage. “Cas.” you breathe. Dean, who was leaning over the table a second ago, shoots this red hot glare towards Castiel. “Bad timing.” you squeak.  
“Where the FUCK have you been?!” the hunter gets into Cas’s face, pushing him back a bit. It’s like the air around the two men snaps with pure rage, and the room goes silent for what seems like ten years.  
“I was looking for Crowley.” Cas finally growls.   
“Yeah? And how’s that going for you?”  
You force yourself to stand, hobbling over to push yourself between the two and shove them back. “Enough testosterone, guys.” you turn to Cas. “Did you find anything?”  
He eyes you almost longingly with his crystal blue eyes, which squint. “Crowley hasn’t just gone into hiding, he’s gone back to hell. I think I have found a way in. I just need time to repair. Are you okay, (y/n)?” he adds softly. His eyes skim over you quickly, as if to sum up the damage he has yet to repair. “I came back to see you before I broke in.”  
Fear coats you at his words. “You want to break into HELL?!” you gasp. “Are you fucking crazy?”  
“It’s the only way to catch him.” he defends. Your hands find your hair, which you rake back roughly.   
“Cas, you can’t just walk into hell. Especially without an army of some kind. That’s suicide!” you snap.  
“Are you sure he’s there?” Dean asks, completely ignoring your objections. It’s like you aren’t even there.  
Cas nods. “Yes, I am sure. The coward has gone through a lot of trouble making sure the gates to hell are heavily guarded.”  
“We’ll just have to go in through the back door, I guess.” Dean grumbles. There’s a darkness in his voice, and you know why. Dean resents the thought of going to hell again. And yet he’s considering doing it without a second thought if it means getting revenge.   
You wrap your arm around your abdomen, trying to keep from shaking. You’ve been standing tensely for too long, with fresh stitches and raw wounds. To top it all off two of your closest friends are planning a siege of hell just to get back at it’s king. “A fallen angel and a hunter don’t necessarily count as an army, for your information.” you try.  
“Who said there’d be only one hunter?” you turn to see Sam with his arms crossed. “If it means getting to Crowley, I’d be willing to do anything.”  
You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “You’re not LISTENING! This is crazy. You all are crazy.” as you speak you grab your jacket from the stool by the door, shrugging in on. You fix your hair deftly. “No, it’s worse than that. You all are crazy AND dead. You’re stupid. All three of you. And you’re dead. So, so dead.”  
“(Y/n) where are you going?” Dean asks, stepping towards you. You yank the hotel room door open and step out.  
“I am going to capture some demons and do some REAL questioning. Maybe if I ask nicely one of them might be willing to draw Crowley out for us. I mean, that’d be the smart thing to do.”  
“(Y/n) I JUST redid your stitches, you can’t-” you close the door on Sam’s objection quickly.   
You trot down the hallway as quickly as you can without irritating any of your healing wounds. Cas appears in front of you, blocking the hallway. “I will not let you pass, (Y/n).” he says gruffly. You cock your head.  
“And why the fuck not?”  
“You....you’re injured.”  
You get up into his face warningly. “Than heal me.” you whisper. The brothers jog down the hall towards you, only to see Cas glaring back.  
He doesn’t know why he’s reluctant to heal you. Maybe it’s because once you have no anchors you’ll be able to start hunting again. Castiel was always so protective of you. But somehow having you weak and unable to do anything seems like the best option for you right now.   
But your eyes, burning into him with a glare you give very rarely. It’s not that he goes weak under it, he just grows timid. Worried.   
The moment Castiel touches your cheek and your wounds are removed, you give the three a single-fingered salute and sprint down the hallway.   
“What the hell, Cas?” Dean snaps.   
“She wished to be healed. I had enough energy to heal her.” Cas says meekly.   
“What, so you just let her go?” Sam chimes in. “She’s going after DEMONS, Cas! What part of that sounded okay to you?”  
Cas begins to feel defensive. “Since when was healing her a bad thing, Dean? I thought that’s what needed to happen!”  
“Yeah, well now she’s out searching for trouble. Again.” Dean starts down the hallway. “C’mon, Sammy. Before she gets herself killed.”  
Sam hesitated. “Hey, uh, Dean?”  
“What, what?” he snaps back.  
“That’s going to be hard. I think she took the impala.” Sam watches as Dean wheels around, the sudden sound of the black car’s rough engine splitting from the parking lot.  
“Damnit. She took Baby!”


	6. Don't Trust That Gazebo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go out trying to track down Crowley on your own in order to save the brother's asses.

You hug the steering wheel with your palms, almost tensely as the hotel shrinks out of sight. The pure relief of being healed keeps the guilt of stealing Dean’s car at bay, though you know it’s going to come back and bite you in the ass sooner or later.  
The radio is blasting ‘Who Do You Love’ by George Thorogood, your window is down to circulate the air. Everything is good, relaxing.  
Now that you think about it, it’s going to be a difficult job to hunt down a couple of demons and convince them to help you. In all honesty - you’re beginning to doubt yourself.  
First things first - where are you going to find a demon? Easy answer - find a crossroads. You know you don’t have to make a deal with them, you just have to trap them and make them do you a favor on the house. If they refuse? send them back to hell.  
You drive for a while, trying to find the first four-way intersection that’s not jammed with traffic and not close to civilization. When you finally find one, though, it’s close to dark and exhaustion starts to creep it’s way up your spine.  
Shaking it off, though, you pull over and arm yourself with Dean’s demon knife. There’s a small gazebo with benches just off of the intersection made of wood and rusted steel. You’ll have to do a little preparation for your date with the demon.  
So you do just that - carving the devil’s trap into the wooden floor of the gazebo and kicking dirt over it to hide it all. Sam taught you how to do that.  
From there you grab the things you need to summon the crossroads demon and you sit and wait.  
“Well well well.” you turn to face the voice, which is coming from a short woman with a buzz cut and thick eyeliner. Interesting style options for a demon... “Aren’t you the little flower working for the Winchesters?”  
You scowl a bit. “Working WITH the brothers, yes.” you look around, trying to seem like you’re on edge. You need to give the demon a reason to think something’s really wrong. After scanning the perimeter you take a step back. “I’m not on good terms with them at the moment.” you add. You keep yourself from smiling when the demon cocks her head and purrs.  
“Oh dear. Did you get sick of them babying you? What’s the trouble? What could little old me do to help?” she takes a step towards you, and you take one back pretending to be worried.  
“St...stay back.” you warn. “I just....I don’t know what I’m doing here. I thought that...maybe....”  
She tries to lessen the distance between you with a smile so sweetly sick it churns your insides. “Maybe what, darling?” You know the gazebo is only inches behind you but you make sure to ‘trip’ over it on your way up. You gasp and turn to catch yourself. The demon chuckles at you. “My, my. Somebody's upset, isn’t she? What did those boys do to you, hun?”  
Fake-crying was something you’ve never been good at up until now. There’s something about knowing that if you don’t put on a show, you could die that brings tears to even the most happiest of moods. It’s become an artform that you’ve prided yourself in mastering.  
With a tear tracing your cheek, you shake your head. “It’s not important what he did. I just want him to pay.” you manage.  
Your heart skips about three beats when the demon steps up onto the gazebo, opening her arms acceptingly. “C’mon here, beautiful. I think I can help you.”  
As soon as you’re sure the demon has fully stepped into the circle, you seize the water-works and jog to the other side of the gazebo. “Sorry, not here to make a deal.” you grin. Kicking up some of the dirt on the floor, you reveal the edge of the devil’s trap. “I’m actually here to ask a favor. Do you think you could manage?”  
The demon’s eyes flash black, and she lurches for you only to be thrown back from the edge of the trap. She cries out. “You sneaky little bitch!”  
You laugh at that. “Thank you, thank you.”  
“If you think I’m going to do ANYTHING for you, forget it!” she snarls. You pound your fits into the side of the gazebo, hard enough to shake the structure.  
“Wrong! You’re going to do EXACTLY what I say if you value your life!” for emphasis you brandish the demon knife in front of her. “Don’t think I won’t cut you to bits and feed you to the bears.”  
The demon laughs nervously. “Is this about what Crowley did to you? ‘Cause honestly, sister, he’s done far worse to far better people.”  
“Yeah, well that doesn’t make it FUCKING right!” you growl back. Your fists are balled so tight against your sides your knuckles turn white and start to ache. “And believe me when I say that he’s going to roast for the shit he’s done.”  
“Ooh, somebody’s confident. Do tell me, how are you going to catch him again?”  
Something in the demon’s tone sets your teeth on edge. It’s not right, none of this is right. “You’re going to lure him out of hell for me.”  
“How?!” she laughs. “He’s shut off all communication between him and us lower-level folk. We haven’t heard from him in weeks. Not that I ever would consider helping you out. I’m more afraid of Crowley than I am of you. Sorry hun.”  
You think this over quickly. “So what you’re saying is I need to catch myself a more powerful demon? Looks like I don’t need you, then.”  
You let the rage bubbling inside of you out to help you swing the knife at the demon.  
You knick her throat, deep enough to make her bleed but not enough to kill her. She’s stunned enough, though, that you can kick her back and plunge the knife straight through her chest. Lightning flickers over her body, and she flails as she dies and drops to the floor.  
“Damn.” you sigh. “This is going to take more than one night.”  
There’s a buzzing inside your head, like static to a radio. ‘(Y/n?)’  
‘Cas.’ you groan. You’d found out early on that angels can read minds and project their own voices via telepathy. It’s cool and all, but invasive and annoying. ‘Go away. I have this handled.’ you say silently.  
There’s a bitter feel to what he says next. ‘Crowley is very well guarded in hell, which means he has no intention of leaving. I believe it would be easier to break in and-’  
The high pitched screech you cause by interrupting him sends an ache to rack through your head. ‘-No, you’re wrong. It might be the quicker thing to do but it’s not the safest. Not to mention the stupidest.’ you grit your teeth, rubbing your temple. ‘I won’t let you and those dickheads known as the Winchesters get yourselves killed. It’s not worth it.’  
‘Yes it’s worth it (y/n) because you’re worth it.’ he replies. There’s a choke to what he said, like he didn’t realize he was saying it and regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. ‘Wait, (y/n) I-’  
‘Cas? Just get out of my head.’ you scold. The buzzing starts to fade, and then disappears altogether. The silence is deafening at first, and you have to force one foot in front of the other in order to make it to the impala.  
Once inside, though, you let out a blood-curdling scream, banging at the steering wheel in rage. “Damnit!” you growl. Your eyes start to prick and swell, you cover your face completely to sob.  
The thought of Cas and the brothers actually risking their lives for you is sickening. Getting back at Crowley should be YOUR problem, not theirs, first of all. It’s humiliating that they’re trying to take it upon themselves to avenge you.  
Not to mention the things he did to you. And Dean having to clean up after it all?  
You shake your head. There’s no way in hell (no pun intended) you’re letting them do something stupid just for you. You don’t care - nor believe - that Cas actually thinks you’re worth it. Maybe he just feels bad. Maybe he just pities you. You’re not sure which is worse.  
Gathering yourself once more, you start up the car and head down the road. Right now you don’t give a shit if the body of the demon is found, nor do you care about the demon trap and summoning equipment you left behind. Right now you just need to find a library to do some research on summing a higher class demon. You don’t plan on going back to the hotel any time soon - not until you can look the boys in the eye and tell them you’ve got Crowley. 

Back at the motel, Sam and Dean are packing as many things as they can into the few small suitcases they’ve dared to take with them. There’s a dangerous tone to the room - both brothers are feeling furious and worried at the same time. Now that you’ve run off playing hero, they’ll have to postpone the siege of hell until you’re found.  
It’s been a long time since Sam’s been blinded by anger. Since he’s felt so lost. It’s a very rare occasion when he loses his temper. Now is one of them.  
“Did you HAVE to give her a spare key?” he finds himself mumbling bitterly. He stuffs another shirt into his bag, pushing some of his guns aside to make more room.  
Dean sets his own bag down and holds his arms out. “What can I say? I trusted her! My bad!”  
Sam, after roughly zipping his bag closed, turns to face him. “Dean, I don’t even have a spare key to the impala, and I’m your brother.”  
Dean blinks, grasping for an answer. “Guess I kept forgetting to give you one.” he tries quietly. He goes back to piling his bag full. Sam growls to himself.  
“Right. You just kept forgetting.”  
“Are you trying to say something, Sammy? ‘Cause if you are, spit it out.” Dean replies. It’s like there’s been a rope strung across the room, building with more and more tension. It snaps with a crack and the boys go at it with their arguments. Meanwhile, Cas sits on your bed, eyes closed, listening intently to your thoughts.  
He knows he told you to stay out of your head. He knows how strange it makes you feel. But he also knows that you just killed a demon in cold blood, and that doesn’t make you safe. He’s getting worried that the path you’ve chosen is too dark for you to handle.  
Most of your thoughts are quick and fleeting, but some of them stick just long enough for Cas to hear them clearly. Things like ‘The only library open this late is in the next state over.’ and ‘How would I break in otherwise?’  
He shakes his head to fight the urge to reply. He can’t risk saying something he’ll regret. He almost expressed his human feelings for you, and he can’t find himself more a fool as he already’s made himself out to be.  
He opens his eyes to look at Dean and Sam, who are still arguing about Dean’s priorities. “If it’s any consolation, (y/n) is preparing to break into a library in Albany tonight.” he says.  
The boys turn to him . “Wait, why? Is she okay?” asks Sam.  
“Yes. She is unharmed, although she murdered a crossroads demon so far, and is planning on summoning a very powerful dweller of hell to gain access to Crowley.” Cas looks between the two of them, only to see their expressions darken even further.  
Suddenly Castiel is pinned to the wall by the bulky forearm of the older Winchester, their noses inches apart. “You’ve gotta be FUCKING kidding me if you actually think she’s okay-”  
“-Dean, knock it off!” Sam grabs his brother by the shoulders and throws him off of the angel. “Fighting won’t get us any closer to finding her.”  
“We do not need to find her. I know exactly where she is.” Cas manages, pulling at his tie in distress. It’s been awhile since Dean was this angry. “I believe I have regained enough energy to take us there, but-”  
“No, no butts. Bring us there now.”  
“Dean,” Sam says quietly. The only other time he’s seen his older brother in this much distress was when his father died. This worries him to the point that he places a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes. “We’ll get her back.”  
“I really hope you’re right.” Dean fumes. All he can imagine right now is you strung up by your toes, Crowley pacing in front of you and grinning. It turns his stomach to mush.  
Cas approaches the two boys, preparing himself to teleport the three of them to where you are. “Whatever I have done to offend you, I am sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dudes! So I was thinking about writing a Burn Notice fic. Yay or Nay? Let me know please!! :D


	7. Agares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In your struggle to find a way to reach Crowley before the boys do, you find yourself willing to go beyond the line in the sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Woooooohhhhhhh talk about a hella hiatus. Sorry! School got in the way.

The library may have been open, but nobody was there save for the elderly librarian who directed you towards the right section. The lamp you’re using is the only light on in that section, you have yourself propped in the corner between book shelves, a thick book on different demon lores balanced on your lap.   
Your eyes beg for a rest but you can’t stop reading, not until you find a type of demon you can summon. It’s gotten to the point where each word begins to float off the page, things get blurry. You shake if off with a yawn and turn the page. The picture it shows is of an old withered man riding a crocodile. You squint, trying to read the caption under it. It reads ‘Agares - ruler of the eastern zone of hell.’   
“Perfect.” you whisper, taking out your phone and snapping a picture of the page. You close the book and get to your feet. Now that you have the demon you have to summon, you need to get the things to summon it. You hear the fluttering arrival of Cas before you actually see him, and when you turn to go hide you smack right into his chest, dropping the book and lamp in the process. “What the fuck?!” you back away from him, noticing that the brothers flank him. They’re a bit dazed.   
You’re about to say something when Dean pulls you roughly into a bear hug, his face in your neck and arms clamping your own to your sides. “If you try something like that again I will strap you to the bed so you can’t go anywhere.” There’s a few moments silence, one that allows you to drink in the feeling of his thick arms and quick breaths. You close your eyes and force down the butterflies.  
“Oh really?” you challenge, prying him off reluctantly. “I’m not three years old, I can take care of myself.”  
“Yeah, well just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.” Dean snaps back. You point an angry finger into his chest, giving him the scariest glare you can.   
“Take your own advice! Just because you CAN break into hell and kill yourselves doesn’t mean you SHOULD.” turning to Cas, you approach. “And YOU. I should thank you for giving them the idea!”  
“I was trying to look out for you!” he growls. Something in his eyes gives you an eerie chill. Is Cas.....angry? “If it weren’t for your blindness-”  
“-I am NOT blind! I’m trying to save your sorry asses!” you snap back. Heat flushes your body, and surprisingly, tears threaten. “You have no idea how DANGEROUS breaking into hell can be!”  
“And summoning one of the rulers of hell isn’t dangerous?” is the angels hushed reply. You hesitate - right, he can read minds. Fuck.   
Your eyes fall shut and you begin to think for a response. “There’s more of a chance here than there is with what you guys are planning.” And you can’t help but think - this is your problem, they shouldn’t have to burden themselves with your hurt. It’s a waste of their time and you know it.  
“(Y/n?)” Cas steps forward, pure concern etching his features and a crease in his brow. “You don’t actually think that, do you?” he doesn’t give you a chance to answer, grazing your cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. The movement seems fluid, unprocessed. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “You’re not a burden to me.” he practically whispers.  
“Cas, don’t be dumb.” you brush his hand away, hugging the thick book to your chest and turning on your hell to stalk out of the library. “I wouldn’t have gotten us into this mess if I’d just stayed at the motel and waited for you to get back before I went out hunting. If I wasn’t alone, I.....”  
Alone. That’s how you feel right now. You felt it when Crowley was slicing you up, you felt it when you hit Dean. You feel it now, with your back turned away from the closest thing to family you’ve had in years.   
Dean practically shoves Cas out of the way, trying to erase the image he just saw of you and Cas, nose-to-nose, breathing the same air. HE should be the one comforting you, not that lame angel. “Hey, you’re not alone now.” Dean says gruffly. “We’ve got your back.”  
You turn on him with eyes ablaze. “So you won’t break into hell?” The hope in your voice must have shattered him in some way, because his jaw goes tight and he looks away. You sigh.  
“Oh.” and you continue out the door. Dean’s hand reaches out and snatches your arm just above the elbow to pull you in. You twist around so his grip turns awkward, from there pulling your arm back and pushing him away. He puts his hands up in surrender. “Death might not be that big of a deal for you three, but that by no means gives you the right to act like it’s not a problem.”  
“(Y/n-)”  
“No, Sam. I’m not going to sit idle while you guys go kill yourselves.”  
“(Y/n!)”  
“Fuck off.”

You curse to yourself as you rake your palm across your eyes. You haven’t stopped crying since you left the library. It’s not a fun experience, not in the least.  
Cars rush by you with their bright headlights casting nasty reflections across your rain-stained windshield. It’s also started to downpour. Despite the heavy heat blasting from the vents it’s still chilly as fuck in the car and you can’t stop shivering.  
You’re just crossing the New York border into southern Vermont when you hear the familiar flutter of wings and the thud of something hitting the back seat. You close your eyes momentarily. “Damnit Cas.” you growl.  
“We need to talk.” he says. You look at him through your rearview mirror. He looks right back.  
“Not in the mood, angel.” you turn your eyes back onto the road, and onto the car in front of you that’s misting water from it’s tires. Suddenly, the engine cuts out and you’re forced to swerve to the side to get out of traffic. You roll lazily down the breakdown lane until you stop completely, and you sigh. Cas zaps into the passenger's seat and turns to you.  
“Why are you sad?” is his soft question. You look straight ahead with a stiff jaw.   
“I...I’m not SAD, Cas.....” you say equally as quiet. Every part of you aches from trying so hard. And it’s still not enough - you’re just not enough. Nothing the boys say or do can help you wrap your mind around this. It’s your fight, not theirs.   
“You’re wrong.” Cas says bluntly. You look to him, confused at first. Then, your eyes widen and you shove him into the car door. The force of his back hitting the window makes a loud crack and it rocks the car slightly.  
“Fucking quit it!” you growl. This time the tears that threaten burn like coals behind your eyes. You put your palms to your lids and you breathe. “I fucking HATE IT when you read my mind like that, Cas!”  
Cas stays pushed against the door submissively, trying to think of a way to comfort you. “Sorry.” he finally croaks. When he builds up the courage to look at you, though, he sees your forehead against the steering wheel. Your hands are tangled in your hair and your shoulders are trembling gently. You’re crying again.   
“I’m not sad.” you stutter.  
“I don’t understand, (y/n).” he replies. A part of him - the human part - tells him to reach over and touch your shoulder. When he obliges, though, he feels you tense under him and he pulls away. “I can’t help but hear your thoughts, and they are sad. So very, very sad.”  
When you don’t speak, he delves into your mind. What he sees startles him so much he completely blanks.  
The image he found was you, from your own eyes, looking up at the rusted ceiling. Crowley has his bloodied knife hovering over you with a smile. The thoughts that are glued to this image range from ‘I’m all alone’ to ‘I am going to die here’  
“(Y/n)....” he groans. “I am so sorry.”  
You could feel him pull these memories from you. It makes everything feel so dark, so slow. Like time has stopped you in that one moment Crowley had your life in his fist. The next whimper turns into a cry, and you bang the wheel in front of you ferociously. “Where were you, huh?!” you manage. Your voice is thick and shaky, but there’s a coldness to it that slices Castiel like a sword. “Where the FUCK were you when that happened?!” your fists pound harder and harder.  
“Please, just...stop.” Cas feels the anger radiating off of you. The guilt it gives him is unbearable.   
All you can see is that basement, and that tray of tools, and your naked form strapped to a table to be cut and torn apart. All you can feel is the hundreds of cuts, big and small, all up your body. And they keep coming. All you can hear is Crowley’s voice in your ear as he whispers his vial thoughts.  
Anxiety grips ahold of you like a noose and it’s like you’re lifted from the car. You can’t breathe worth shit. Your chest is too tight.   
To make things worse you can’t stop trembling as if you’re cold. Nothing can fills your lungs no matter how deep a breath you take. Everything edges with black and white spots as you start to panic.   
And in this panic, in this crazed hyperventilating fit, you find yourself chuckling. “Aw, shit.” you giggle. “This is just about as fucked up as if gets, huh?”  
“Give us time, (y/n). We know a way in-”  
“-No, do me a favor and shove it!” You wipe your eyes roughly, turning to him with a sad smile. “Do you remember what happened last time you broke into hell? Do you?” There’s silence from Cas, who refuses to look back on the time he lost an alarming number of his brothers. “Those were fucking angels. Hundreds of them fighting with you and none of them survived. What makes you think two humans will be any better?”  
Cas’s eyes snap up to yours with an icy blue fury. “Is insulting the Winchesters making you feel any better?!”  
Without thinking you reply “No not really!” you meet his gaze with an equally (y/e/c) stare. “I’m not trying to make myself feel better I’m trying to convince you to let me do this my way so nobody gets hurt!”  
“And summoning Agares won’t get you harmed?” he spits. This time when the human part of him says to touch her, he does so forcefully - grabbing her shoulder and pulling her towards him so they’re a hand's breadth apart. “That demon will do nothing that isn’t in his own interest. What makes you think he’ll even consider helping you?”  
You don’t even try to pull away from the angel, instead, you move closer with a snarl. “Guess I’ll have to give him a reason to help me.” you practically whisper.  
Castiel’s bruising grip turns numb as he looks at you fully. He’s never cared for a human being so much before. Not even the Winchesters make him feel this sort of protectiveness he does with you. In his own mind, he feels he has failed you by letting Crowley lay his hands on you. And now he fears that Agares will do much, much worse is you don’t succeed in trapping him. He also knows that you’re too stubborn for your own good. Never before has he been able to talk you down from something. He’s worried now will be just another one of those times. “You are not acting free of emotion.” is his cold response.  
You hiss and pull away. “Since when do I ever act ‘free of emotion’?! C’mon, Cas! This is me we’re talking about.”  
You do everything you can to force the scarlet flush from your face. The way he was just staring at you....longingly, perhaps? Lovingly.   
The space between the two of you gets very cold very fast as if something wonderful and lively just died there. “I....I know you think what you’re doing is right, (y/n), but believe me, you’re going to get hurt.”  
“Likewise. Now, get out of the car before I banish you.” you say through gritted teeth. Starting the car for emphasis, you wait for Cas to flutter off. When he doesn’t you turn to look at him coldly.  
“I’m sorry.” he mumbles. Before you can react Cas brings his hand up to your forehead with two fingers.  
You’re out before you can stay “Awh fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything you want to see in this story? PLEASE let me know!


	8. Blood-Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get one beg-ass lucky break.....maybe...

After Cas had knocked you out he immediately zapped the Winchesters back, and now they’re blasting down the highway in search for a motel room to hole up in.  
Dean keeps looking in the rearview mirror at you, his knuckles clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that they’re white. He has no idea why he’s so angry with you, all he knows is hearing your name turns his blood cold.  
And yet you just lie there in Cas’s lap, eyes closed with a soft dreamless expression on your face. Quite beautiful in fact - to all three of the hunters in the car. Especially to Castiel who gets to see it up close. He insisted on sitting in the back so he can hold you tight. So tightly, in fact, he hasn’t moved since they started down the road. Which was about an hour ago.  
Dean takes another relishing glance back at the two of you before speaking up. “Getting a bit cozy, eh, Cas?” even though he layers his voice in a smile and slight humor nothing can mask the pure envy on his tongue.  
Cas looks up from your sleeping form with eyes drenched in shame. “She....she was so angry, Dean. Scared.”  
Sam grits his teeth, propping his cheek on his fist, elbow against the window. “(Y/n), scared? That’s a rarity.” Even as he says it though, his insides begin to rot with worry. Never has he seen you this distraught. Not even when you first met in the hospital - even then you were as calm as it gets. He should have been there to protect you. To kill Crowley before he strapped you to that table. But here he is, filled with regret and anger while you’re trying desperately to protect yourself. So he stays silent after that in attempt to not sound so shattered from Cas’s next reply:  
“I read her thoughts, Sam. Any other human would have been put in one of your ‘asylums’ by now. She’s BROKEN.” his words are like icy venom. Both brothers looks back at the urgency in his voice and they see the angels eyes flash with a bright light. He’s THAT upset. It’s like seeing a demon's eyes flicker black from emotion, but more bright and entrancing. For one thing, it scares them shitless. “If I hadn’t put her in such a deep sleep she would be experiencing night terrors constantly.”  
Dean tears his eyes from the mirror, trying not to panic. When the angel gets anxious, he knows something bad is up. He finds a sudden need to find a motel fast. “Good.” he says tensely. “She needs some shut eye after what happened.”  
It may be considered an inappropriate reaction, but Sam chuckles. “You do realise she’s going to be pissed when she wakes up, right?”  
“Yeah, well we can cross that bridge when we get to it.” the older brother replies.  
Meanwhile, you lie there like a dead weight in the angels arms. Your breaths are slow and steady. Your heart’s pace is gentle. You’re sleeping like a baby. It’s been awhile, actually, since you’ve slept like this. Every time before this you would close your eyes and see Crowley. Every time you close your eyes you would be back in that basement with a knife to your flesh and a scream in your throat. Sometimes you would go days without even going near a bed because you’re so terrified of yourself. But now you’re practically comatose, toasty warm in the back of your favorite car with your favorite angel keeping you close.  
That is, until, you’re slowly drawn from the depths of your slumber by a low, slithering voice. It starts out as a whisper, like a slight wind. And it’s like you’re in a tunnel, the voice at the end beckoning you forward. “You.....welcome, welcome!”  
His voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you, and you feel yourself wince. “Who are you?” you croak quietly. You notice you can’t feel your body, and everything is moving slowly around you as you walk towards the voice. You’re dreaming.  
The voice hiccups through his chuckles. “All humans are stupid, but you, my dearie, take the cake!”  
Another blast of light reveals the tunnel you are in isn’t actually a tunnel, but a room. It’s very narrow, with a long stone table and a single chair at its head. You find yourself taking steps backwards, quicker and quicker, until your back collides with something rough and hard - a wall.  
A form - very tall and thin - practically slithers its way towards you on it’s two long feet. It has a grin that stretches it’s face to reveal jagged teeth, yellow and black from centuries of decay. It’s nose is long and hooked to make it’s face more narrow. It’s UGLY. It’s name is Agares, ruler of eastern Hell. At least, he was. “What the blinding fuck?!” you squeak. Every fiber of your being is pumping with adrenaline and yet you can’t seem to move.  
Agares chuckles and stops mere inches away. He’s so tall that your head barely reaches the bottom of his sternum. He leans down to touch his nose to yours. You can’t move out of pure fear. This is a different kind of nightmare for you. Instead of reliving a bad time in your life, you’re making one. “You’ve got a mouth, don’t you?” Even his breath makes your skin crawl.  
Finding the little courage you have left, you spit directly in his face. “Get away from me!” you growl. Agares simply licks the spit from his cheek with a long, scaled tongue and laughs a little bit more. “And a temper. Dearie, I alway enjoy the fiery ones!”  
You push down the lump in your throat. “I said, get. Away. From me.”  
Swift like wind he’s pacing the room once more. He has his slender fingers tangled behind his back as he begins to speak. “Is that how you treat all of your business partners?”  
You take the chance to look around once more for an escape route but there are no doors or windows. It’s just a room, with a table. I have to keep my breaths low, you think to yourself. I have to stay calm. “Business partners?” you attempt to ask. Then another thought - “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” -he nods- “Why are you here? Did the boys summon you?”  
He cackles at the hope in your voice, causing you to grimace. His laugh is eery - not so much a laugh as it is a hiss. Nevertheless it makes you bristle. “I’m afraid not.” he cooes.  
“Then why? Why are you here?”  
He spins on his heel to leer at you. It’s a smooth motion with limbs so long they bend like straws. “I heard your plea, my dear. It was very difficult to ignore.”  
You cross your arms to seem less intimidated although every hair on your body stiffens with nerve. You don’t like this one bit. You wish the boys were here to back you up. Having them around seemed to make things less threatening. “What plea?”  
You don’t remember ‘pleading’ and shit, so what’s this fucker doing saying that you did? “Your kind really is dull, isn’t it?” he comments dryly. That gets a glower from you, and you clench your fists.  
“Hey, don’t drag me to your...” you glance around quickly “...rape dungeon and then expect me to understand.” after a moment you decide to drop your hands to your side and take a step forwards away from the wall. “Now, what am I doing here? Why am I dreaming of you?”  
He answers your question by waving his hand in the air. Like a thread being pulled from fabric, your surroundings unravel as his hand moves and you’re now in different surroundings.  
The two of you are standing on a cold cement floor with splotches of rust. The walls and ceiling match the dull gray - also sharing the similar staining at the floor. It smells of mold, and the odd tinge of blood. Steel rafters hangover head to support pipes of all sizes. It’s cold, and you can feel the chill on your arms. You’re in a basement.  
You blink, trying to force the lump in your throat down, but when you open your eyes two other people are in the room. One of them is stark naked and strapped to a dirty steel slab. The other is tying an apron around himself with a smirk. You find yourself stumbling back once more to hit the wall. This time you can’t stop the shudder that racks your body. You’re here, back in this place.  
Shaking your head violently you turn to face the wall. You - the other you, held down on the table - starts to scream as the first blade parts her skin. You cover your mouth.  
“So, this is what you dream about?” Agares sniggers. Heat flushes your face in a red tint as your heart picks up. “What sort of kink is this, eh?”  
Something inside of you snaps like a twig and you turn to punch the bastard square in the jaw. You hit him hard, with so much force you stumble after your punch. He snarls and straightens. His withered jaw hangs like a fleshy pendulum, and he approaches you quickly. With one snap his jaw is cracked back into place. “You son of a bitch.” you breathe.  
Behind you Crowley laughs and you can hear the sickening impact of something blunt hitting skin. Your stomach rolls. Agares grabs you with one thin hand, almost able to touch both shoulders at once as he lifts you up the wall to meet his cold, slimy eyes. “You should be careful with that temper of yours, (y/n). I bite back, you know.”  
“Get off of me.” you kick your feet but you can’t reach him. “I said fucking get-”  
He shifts his hand to wrap around the back of your neck, guiding you back to the floor to make you face the nightmare you’ve had to suffer through for weeks. You close your eyes, gritting your teeth when you hear your dream-self scream again. Despite your struggles, you begin to cry. Not again, you think. Not again.  
Crowley whispers something, and you shiver with disgust. Behind you Agares hisses. Your anxiety sky rockets with each sounds that enters your mind. You can’t wake up. “Watch him girly. Watch him defile your body.” Agares says.  
“Go fuck a duck.” is your brisk reply. You keep your eyes closed so tightly you see stars. Even so, tears drip from your chin in steady waves.  
After a moment’s silence he sighs exasperatedly. “Fine. We’ll skip the fun.” he spins you around so you can leer up at him once more.  
“You must be really sick and twisted to think ANY of this is fun-”  
“-And you must be really angry to have to come to me for help. I may be evil, deary, but I’m not stupid.”  
You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a breath to think. “How did you hear about me?” you ask levely. You do all you can to block out what’s happening behind you.  
“Were you not going to summon me?”  
“Well, I was, but I hadn’t yet. I had to get away from the boys first.”  
“Why would you need to do that?”  
“Long story.”  
Agares strokes his white wrinkly chin, thinking. “Well, it was hard to miss - Crowley was bragging to EVERYBODY about capturing the infamous (y/f/n) and torturing her. He was smart to retreat to Hell after what he did just to be safe. He had cut off all communication with his little spawns because he KNEW you and the Winchesters would be out looking for him. But you already know that, don’t you?”  
You nod, thinking. So Crowley is indeed holed up in Hell like the little bitch he is. Every part of you pounds with this anxious urge to run and hide from what’s going to happen if you can’t get to him before the boys do. Their lives mean more to you than your own - and if they get themselves killed trying to pull off a half-assed plan you’ll never get over it. You can’t let that happen. “I got a demon to talk, she told me I had to find some big important demon in order to get even remotely close to the bastard. I did some research and found you. How did you know I was searching for you, though?” you ask.  
He circles you like a predator. His movements remind you of someone - someone like the King of Hell. “Humans can’t just summon me when they want to - I have standards.’ he begins. “I could hear your thoughts about me so clearly it was as if you were in the next room. You intrigued me and I wanted to know why you were willing to do so much.”  
“Wait...so you can read minds?” you interject quickly.  
He contemplates this. “Hmm. Per say, yes. I can pick up on any thoughts or actions concerning me. Like my own personal Angel Radio.” he laughs at the term. “Yours were different from the few I’ve heard. You were loud, full of vengeance. Nothing was going to stop you.”  
Everything he says sinks into you like a rock through soft clay. He knows why you’re here, he knows what you want. Is he actually going to give it to you or is he stringing you along just for shits and giggles? “I’m guessing you like that sort of thing?” you comment dryly.  
His lips peel back in a grin so foul your stomach lurches. You want out of here, NOW. “Darling, I live off of that sort of thing. I make deals only a few times a millennia so when they happen, they have to count. They have to be worth something.”  
“Am I worth something?”  
“Very much so.”  
Another scream from your dream self makes you jump out of your skin. “Does that mean we can make a deal?” you ask slowly. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode.  
“What do you ask of me?”  
Without hesitation or thought, you immediately say “I want Crowley splattered across these walls.” -he grins so widely his face ripples, and you add: “But I want to do it myself.”  
“You’re asking me to bring Crowley here so you can kill him?” You nod. “What’s in it for me?”  
Your breath hitches. Oh, right. Uh... “Hell. With him gone you’ll be able to take over.”  
His laugh drowns out any other sound in the basement. “You’re a big thinker, (y/n). I like that.”  
“You we have a deal?” asking it makes you tremble even harder. It’s happening. You’re getting closer.  
His finger shoots out to slice your palm open, his other holding your arm with a hard grip. You scream at the pain, but he shushes you quickly. “Relax, girly. I’m just closing off the deal.” he pricks his own palm and lets you go. You watch as the steady stream of black drips from his own hand, holding it out.  
You close your eyes and jut your own out to meet his in a firm clasp. Shooting pain racks your body like fire. You bite your lip.  
Your surroundings blur together and begin to unravel once more to leave you in darkness. Alone.

The impala had been parked at a gas station a few miles out of Massachusetts. Dean, despite his need to find a motel to crash in for the night, stopped to get food and gas for the car.  
You’re curled up in the back seat with a very familiar tan trenchcoat draped over you like a blanket. Unknowingly your fingers had curled around the fabric in desperate attempts to find comfort. Like a ghost on your skin, your palm throbs with pain you can only assume be from the deal you’ve just made. Upon further observation, you notice the thin line across your right palm. The skin is puffy and almost purple but so faded it’s hard to tell. It does hurt like a bitch. Think of it like hundreds of splinters along the entirety of your palm. Okay, now imagine someone taking your hand and dipping it into a bowl of salt then immediately into lemon juice.  
Remembering sends a thrill through you and you have to sit up suddenly. Your head rolls from the bloodrush. It’s dark out still but there’s a hint of purple from a soon-to-be rising sun.  
A sad smile creeps it’s way to your lips at the thought of keeping the boys safe. And then, the static of a radio sounds in your head. ‘Meet me back in the basement in three days, Dearie. I’ll have your revenge waiting for you then.’  
Chills take over your body at the sound of Agares’s eerie voice echoing in your mind. Shaking it off, you wrap the trench coat around you like a blanket and you pry the squeaky door open.  
The chilly air hits you like a thousand knives to the face, and you blink back a few sleepy tears. Your heart still beats harder than a drum and you can still hear your own screams, but you’re awake. It’s over.  
Your sigh pushes white steam into the sky like the discharge of a machine - the warmth of your mouth replaced with the cold and dry air around you. You turn you see someone tall - yes, THAT kind of tall - leaning against the passenger's door, right hand steadying what looks to be the nozzle of the gas pump that leads into the car. His left reaches up to rake his hair back from his forehead anxiously.  
Silently you shuffle over to lean against the car next to Sam. It’s cold as fuck out here but who better to warm up next to? He turns his head to look at you, smiling then turning his body completely. “Welcome back.” his words are cautious, almost fearful. I mean, they did technically kidnap you and drag you cross-country.  
You contemplate whether you should brag about your victory in finding a way to get Crowley, but now that things are finally catching up you decide it’s best to wait. “Yeah, sure.” you chuckle. “I’m fucking EXHAUSTED.”  
He raises a brow at you in disbelief. “Really? You’ve been practically comatose for a good five hours now, (y/n).” as he speaks he takes the gas nozzle out of the car and places it back into the holster. From there he proceeds to pay.  
You knit your brows. “Yeah, against my will.”  
Sam lets out an audible sigh, pressing his weight back onto the passenger's door. “Well, c’mon (y/n). It was pretty clear that you weren’t coming either way.”  
“Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘take a hint’, Sammy? Have you?” you seeth. You’ve gotten what you wanted but it’s still not enough. You’re still angry, scared. Something still seems a bit off about that deal with Agares. What if that SOB double-crosses you and you don’t get the chance to kill Crowley?  
Sam only shakes his head with a tight jaw. “We’re just looking after you, ya know.”  
“I don’t need to be looked after.” you huff back. There’s a brief moment of silence, filled by a very empty sadness. You’re tired, you’re anxious, you miss smiling. Everything has been taken and thrown into chaos around you. You’re just so lost right now and it’s all your fault.  
You quietly slide close enough to the younger brother so you can rest your head on his arm. Almost like a reflex he lifts it up to grant you access to his side. You oblige with a small smile as he wraps his arm around you. The instant warmth eases some of the stress that’s built up, and you close your eyes to listen to his erratic heartbeat. Yes, erratic.  
It would speed up, getting louder and louder and then slow back down again. The response gives you butterflies with which you push down bitterly. It’s one of those feelings that fills you with dread. Deep, resounding dread. So you push it so deep inside of you it becomes a memory. “Wheres Dean and Cas?” you ask carefully. As if the moment was shattered into millions of bloody pieces, Sam sighs audibly.  
“Getting supplies. I think there’s a hotel down the road that we’re planning on staying at for a while.” he answers.  
You cock your head to look at him. “Supplies?”  
He’s about to answer when the store doors open and the other two boys come out, Dean with a paper bag tucked under his arm. “Morning Sleeping Beauty.” Dean comments with a smirk. You roll your eyes. Still, you smile.  
“Nice to see you too, Dean.” you laugh. Yeah, you probably should be mad at them for what they did but at the same time it didn’t stop making a deal with Agares. You’ve still won. To your surprise he opens up his free arm as if begging for a hug. Instantly you bury your face in his neck and his arm wraps itself around your waist.  
A burst of warmth hits you like a truck and your smile gets bigger. This is it - this is how things are going to be again once you take care of Crowley. Things will get back to normal.  
When Dean lets go there's a small part of you that shrinks. The loss of contact almost makes you frown despite of yourself. You turn to see Cas with his arms at his sides, watching you with a sad expression. “Cat got your tongue?” you ask, approaching him. You try to seem anything but reluctant just to spare his feelings. Dick move or not he only knocked you out because he was scared. You don’t want his guilt on your shoulders, either.  
Even though he doesn’t move you still take it upon yourself to hug him as tightly as you can. He’s hesitant but in the end he hugs back. “I’m sorry....for what I did....” he says gruffly.  
“Yeah, do it again and I’ll gut you.” you whisper back, letting go. You turn back to the boys. “We need to get to a hotel room. There’s something I need to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyo look the next chapter. The ending to this one came out kinda rough for me, I have the plan for the story I just don't know how to play it out so please forgive me. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU NEED. I AM ALSO OPEN FOR OTHER STORY IDEAS (FOR ALMOST ANY FANDOM).
> 
> Edit: Guys I'm gonna have to put a hiatus on this story - things are getting rough at home and I need to be there for my family for a while. I'll try to write as much as I can but my people need me. I'll still be taking requests and ideas, I just won't be able to write them. I'm so sorry, guys. Forgive me?


	9. Nightmares (Prologue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it's time to break the news before it breaks you 
> 
>  
> 
> (lol I know i really suck at doing chapter summaries just please forgive me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty so because I wanted to try to appeal to all audiences (meaning people on Team Dean, Team Cas, and Team Sam) I've decided to have three different outcomes of the next chapter. This chapter itself will be building up to which ever outcome you chose to read (or read all of them because I worked my ass off writing them at three in the fucking morning XD). I know it might sound confusing but I'm hoping you'll understand as you read.
> 
> AND I KNOW IT'S SHORT I'M SO SORRY I TRIED

The four of you roll up to what seems to be a pretty decent hotel complex, one with multiple floors and a pool out back. Despite the late hour it is there is music blasting and the many splashes of teenagers having a good time.   
You’re nestled against the back window of the impala, Cas sitting on the other side eyeing you carefully. Something about the way you said ‘there’s something I need to tell you’ was very unsettling to him. And, how exactly, you seem to have let the argument leading up to his brash act of knocking you out go as if it were nothing. You would never just let something go like that. It’s not who you are as a person. Which mean you’ve either found a way around their plan to break into hell or you’ve found a way to stop them. Both are not very good.  
As you get out of the car he reaches into your mind very quickly to see what he can find. The name ‘Agares’ is still there, very fresh and tinged with fear. He can also pick out ‘What if I’m wrong?’ that’s drenched in guilt and worry. Wrong about what? “(Y/n), what did you do?” he whispers, popping out of the car to appear by your side. Sam is at the trunk fishing through multiple bags, trying to find the one with his name on it.   
“I’ll go check us in.” you announce, turning on your heel immediately and striding towards the door. As you get closer the heavy base of party music starts to pulse through you. A small part of you begins to consider unwinding. Unwinding meaning hanging out in a pool drinking.  
Pushing open the neon glass doors you’re greeted with the immediate smell of alcohol. It’s a familiar smell and yet it still hits you like a brick to the face. You shake it off quickly and make your way through the semi crowded common room towards the front desk - you can feel the wandering eyes of some older fellows follow you all the way up to the desk clerk. The guy himself is just a bit taller than you, with messy blond hair tucked under a cheesy hotel logo hat with a vest to match. His eyes wander up and down your body almost too quickly to notice before smiling. “Hi, how may I help you?”  
You flash him smile. “Yeah I’d like to rent a....” you mentally decide whether you want a room to yourself or not before continuing. “..two rooms, please. For the night.”  
“Would you want them connecting?” as he types away at his computer you notice he keeps flicking his eyes back to your figure. The neckline of the shirt you’re wearing isn’t a very deep one, but the shirt itself is tight enough to leave little to the imagination.   
“Sure.” you scan the room once more, a bit anxious for the boys to hurry up so you can break the news. When you turn back the clerk hands two keycards to you with a curt nod.  
You can tell he’s about to say something but you decide to leave before he gets the chance. You meet the boys at the door, trading one keycard for your bags. There’s concern in each of their eyes and it hurts to see it so deeply - the sooner this is over the sooner you can let go. With Agares’s deal this close to coming you feel like there’s a million things to take care of.   
But still you smile warmly. “You ready?”

When you had broken the news about what had happened, it went far from swell. For one, Dean had nearly broken his hand against the table before storming out. For two, Sam couldn’t bring himself to lift his face from his hands as you tried to explain the circumstances. And Cas did what Cas does best - he poofed to Chuck-knows-where without a single word.   
So now it’s just the two of you, sitting at the table provided in your hotel room. You can still hear the heavy bass of the party just outside your window. There’s the occasional scream and splash to add to the already upcoming sleepless night you know you’re going to have. And Sam just sits there with his elbows supported by his knees, head buried in his fingers. “Sam....”  
“You don’t make deals with demons, (y/n). Ever.” he finally looks up to show immense redness in his eyes from keeping them clenched shut so tightly. “You just...you don’t.”  
“You’re one to talk there, Sammy.” you say gently. He searches for a reply but ends up just staring at you with an empty expression. It’s quite haunting. It’s your turn to sigh and run a hand over your own face. “It’s the only way and you know it.”  
“We already had a plan! And it was a good one, one that didn’t involve selling your soul-”  
“-I didn’t sell my soul, Sam. Don’t be stupid.”  
Sam shakes his head. Out of the three he seems to be the calmest, the most patient. Maybe even understanding. “How can you tell? I mean, did...did he make you do anything?”  
An uproar of pain branching from the forming scar on your palm makes you flinch and clench it close. But you open it reluctantly - there’s no point in lying even more. So you raise your hand and extend your palm towards him from across the table.   
“(Y/n)....” he takes your hand and pulls it closer, causing you to lean over the table. He grimaces as he inspects it. Even the smallest of touches sends fire through your hand.  
“He slit both of our hands and we shook on it.” Sam releases your hand as you talk.  
“Does it hurt?”  
“Nah.” you flex your fingers for emphasis even though it actually hurts like a mother fucker.   
His eyebrow raises as if in disbelief but he drops it. “So what do we do from here?” when you hesitate he puts his hands up in front of him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m pissed. But we can’t go back now.”  
You rake at your hair to try and calm your nerves. “He want’s us to meet him in three days.”  
“Where?”  
“..The basement...” you say. You can tell your expression is grim - and maybe a bit fearful. He kinda does a double take, to which you nod solemnly. “Yeah, THAT basement.”  
“(Y/n), this is bad. I mean really, REALLY bad. How do you know you can trust him?” Sam argues pensively. He hates thinking about that place just as much as you do. He’d do anything to keep you from going back there.  
You shrug your shoulders with a scowl. “He sought me out, we shook on it - even demons have to keep their word if they seal it somehow, right?” you reply. Sleep is finally starting to tug at you with it’s long, bony fingers. You shake your head a few times to get rid of it. You’re not done trying to prove yourself to Sam.   
Instead of replying to you Sam lets out a long vocal sigh and stands from his seat across from you. As he walks by he places a warm, firm hand on your shoulder. “Maybe, maybe not. Listen, (y/n), I’ll try to talk to Dean. You know how he gets but uh....try and get some sleep. You won’t have to face this alone.” And with that he leans down, places a lingering kiss to your temple, and leaves the hotel room.   
Now it’s your turn to sigh deeply and stretch your upper body across the surface of the table in attempt to stretch your stiff muscles. You trust Sam to talk some sense into Dean, however you don’t trust Dean to listen without putting up a fight.  
And you’re completely right - within a few minutes you can hear the two brothers having a very heated argument on the other side of the hotel room wall. Their voices are distinct and you can tell which one of them is speaking over the other and yet it’s hard to make out exactly WHAT they’re saying.   
You find yourself getting more and more anxious the longer you strain to listen to what they’re yelling at each other. It gets harder and harder once the voices start getting louder and louder because although their volume makes their words clearer they’re starting to speak so quickly you can’t keep track.   
Some guy across the hall bangs on their door and pleads for some peace and quiet because it’s apparently past two in the morning. That drags a small chuckle from you when Dean replies with a brisk “Fuck off, pal.” before going back to his gruff argument with Sam.  
You yourself start to get that nagging ‘your body needs some fucking sleep now’ kinda feeling even though their yelling match continues on. It’s not going to help much if they don’t shut up and something tells you that if you intervene now it’s only going to make things worse. Sam’s got your back, right? You should just leave it to him to speak up for you.   
With muscles protesting the entirety of the action, you force yourself up from the table to hobble over to the bed near the back wall of the room. It’s springs are stiff and the sheets are light and cold as they greet your aching body. A groan escapes you at the thought of making it through the night on this thing. You subconsciously scratch at the scar on your palm like it’s an irritating itch. Sleeping is a challenge for you as it is, add a rock hard cheap hotel bed to the mix and it’ll be damn near impossible.   
Sam and Dean’s drabbles finally die down at around three thirty with the sound of Sam going “FINE!” and Dean then going “FINE!” before their hotel room door slams shut. You’re not sure which one of them it was that was leaving but they’re going to sleep out in the impala tonight is your educated guess. With the new resounding silence you’ve finally been able to convince yourself to drift off into an empty sort of unconsciousness.  
It’s a dark, quiet kind of sleep for about an hour before the screams start up again. Just like they always do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, pretty much, the next three chapters will each be an outcome surrounding which of Team Free Will comes in to comfort you during your hellish nightmares. I'm trying to use tips I've gotten from a couple comments about softening the character a bit and having her let the boys in a little more. I do admit after rereading my work (ccrrriiinnngggee) I see how bitchy I've made her. So I'm trying to get away from that as much as I can. 
> 
> PS: The first of the three outcomes will probably be Sammy's because I'm kinda his trash right now _-_


	10. Nightmares (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look's like Sam is going to be there for you when your nightmares get the best of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUDES! I'm trying to work through these next few chapters, considering I've been really behind on everything. Guess school and shit really had me by the balls for a few months. I'll try and make up for lost time, though!

The entire floor heard your erratic screaming. The only one who hadn’t been jolted from their sleep was you, who continued to thrash and plead in your crazed sleep. All you saw was Crowley, his hands covered in your blood as he stood over you with this long thorned strip of leather. He gripped your hair and pulled your head up to expose the tender flesh of your throat, to which he tore open by flicking the strip against it over and over again.   
Sam comes barreling through the door that connects your two rooms, his brown hair ruffled here and there, eyes squinted from sleep, shirt askew on his shoulders. He can’t level his breath because all he can hear is your voice strangled in pain, his own panic making everything blurry. He finds you tangled in your own bed sheets and clawing at something above you - nothing, actually, but in your dream it’s Crowley’s hands trying to force a flaming needle into your bloodshot eye. “(Y/n)? (Y/N)!”  
He practically jumps the small coffee table to reach you. Ripping the sheets off of your trembling body was the first thing he does, and then he tries to sit you up, all while whispering comforting things to you in attempt to wake you up. You shake so much in his arms it’s hard at first to get a good grip on you but Sam finally gets your back against the headboard of the bed.  
Your eyes shoot open and you suck in such a huge intake of air you have to cough some of it up. Sam immediately brushes the hair from your face and makes you look at him, to let you know that he’s here. Sam’s here. “Hey, hey look at me. It’s okay. (Y/n), it’s all over.” he says these things over and over again until you can breathe without coughing. You don’t realize you’d been crying until you go to bury your face in your hands and they come back practically soaked in your hot salty tears.   
You cringe at your own weakness as you’re suddenly aware you’re panting as well. Crowley’s not here, he’s not here. “Oh God, Sam. I’m so sorry.” you whisper-sniffle. You look into his eyes only to see pure genuine worry. There’s so much on his face that you regret seeing - the large dark circles under his eyes, the earnestly knit eyebrows, the tangled mess he likes to call his hair. Sam only shakes his head.  
“No, don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t ever say you’re sorry for being like this, (Y/n).” he smiles as he says this, but only for a brief moment. “You okay?”  
“Yeah- I mean, I uh....” you close your mouth and sniffle as you try to form words that don't burden him. But the moment you look into his sleep-filled eyes everything inside of you breaks. You’re so tired. You just want to sleep without having to keep your pain so guarded. You want desperately to let somebody else hold it for you, just so you can get some mother fucking sleep. But this is Sam, this is your family. You don’t hurt family like this. You try to say ‘yeah, I’m okay Sammy. Sorry for waking you. You can leave now.’ but as you open your mouth, as you try to look him in the eye and mean what you’re saying, all hell breaks loose inside of you and all you can manage is a thick sob before covering your mouth and face in both hands so he doesn’t have to look at you.   
Sam responds by pulling you into his chest before he has a chance to break too. If only you knew how much it hurt him to see you so determined to hide all of this. Because when Sam Winchester saw the pure agony in your deep (e/c) eyes just now, his entire world caught flame and exploded. It just kind of...destroyed itself.   
So he lets you cry into his chest as he tries to keep his heartbeat steady. He relishes the fresh smell of your hair, and the softness of your arms as he cradles them. Sam takes in everything about you as you cry as hard as you’ve ever cried in such a long time. He doesn’t care that you’re soaking his favorite shirt and he doesn’t care that he’s only gotten a good two hours of sleep tonight. He sets all of that aside for (y/f/n).   
When you finally start to settle down from your nightmare and start thinking again, you take a few deep breaths before pulling away and wiping your eyes. Sam takes it upon himself to help and brush a few off of your cheek with his thumb. You crack a small smile, and allow yourself to lean into his hand a bit in hopes he wouldn’t notice. “So I take it Dean is sleeping in his baby tonight?” you ask gently. Sam actually laughs a bit.   
“Yeah, we had a little bit of a disagreement-”  
“-you think?” you chuckle. Your whole head feels stuffy and congested, and your voice barely works after the sob-a-thon you just endured, but you’re trying. “I’m pretty sure the whole hotel could hear you guys screaming at each other. I’m surprised neither of you pulled out your guns and tried to settle it that way.”  
“Oh believe me, the thought had crossed my mind.”  
The two of you start to laugh again and the tension that had built up between the two of you lifts with each passing moment. The guilt of scaring him out of bed hits you again though, and you look at your hands. “Damnit, Sam. I’m so sorry for waking you.”  
“Don’t worry about it. I’d rather be here, by your side than letting you suffer it alone. I’d do anything for you, (y/n). Don’t forget that.” he cups your cheek with his hand so you have to look at him as he says this.   
The tears start to hit you again because there’s nothing else you can say. Sam has always been supportive of you in the past but he’s never said it LIKE this before. This wasn’t as much supportive as it was...loving, persay. And he’s never been this intense about it before.   
Sam hugs you to his chest again so you have something to cry into. The crying you’re doing now isn’t as anxious as it was last time. It’s more of a quiet, deep kind of crying. The kind of crying you do when you’re really tired and in need of sleep. He notices the slight slump in your posture, the weight you start to put against him the longer he has you in his arms. The younger Winchester gently pushes you off, proceeding to join you under the blankets and pulling you against him. When you give him a questioning look, he shrugs. “I’m not leaving you alone like this. And you need sleep. Lots of it. If we’re going to kill Crowley we need all the rest we can get.”  
Relief washes over you and you allow yourself to rest your head on his chest and spread your arm across him claimingly.   
You finally fall into a light restless sleep against the gigantic man. Although the nightmares didn’t stop, they didn’t impact you as much, because when you woke up each time Sam was still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these chapters might be a bit short, it's just this story is taking a little longer than I anticipated it to and I'm trying to get as much in as I can without things drawing out for too long. Tell me what you think - as always I'm up for your comments!


	11. Nightmares (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's turn!

You could feel the saw grinding through the joint in your finger, and you could see the pink mist that sprayed Crowley’s apron as he pushed down harder and harder until the blade of the saw hit the metal of the table and he was able to pick up the tip of your finger and show it to you. He laughed to himself and threw it onto the table with the other eight fingers he had cut off. “One more to go!” he says cheerfully, before starting the saw up again and going in for the final pinky finger on your right hand.   
You had been thrashing so much in your sleep that your body had found the edge of your bed and proceeded to flip off of it. Your forehead hit the end table on your way down to the floor, causing the loudest, most obnoxious BANG you’ve ever heard. You’re awake now, trembling not only from the nightmare but from the throbbing pain now blossoming from your head. So you lay there in a fetal position, hand clasped over the wound and other wrapped around your stomach. You’re trying to steady your breathes so you can stop crying as soon as possible - that bang was loud and you’re sure somebody heard it and is going to check in on you.   
How right you are about someone hearing it. Dean awoke from his heavy sleep, having heard the alarming sound of your skull hitting the cheap wooden table, not knowing what the fuck happened. So he climbs out of his bed, pulls on the nearest pair of pants he finds, and high-tails it to your room. “(Y/n?)” he tries to stay quiet in the off-chance that you slept through the noise, but he’s worried.   
You, however, freeze mid-fetal. You’re on the opposite side of the bed, completely out of view from where Dean stands in the doorway sharing the two rooms. You swallow once, twice, three times while trying to figure out what to do. Dean calls your name again, a little more forceful now that he can’t see you anywhere in your hotel room. “Did you drop something? What the fuck happened?”  
Finally, you sigh and clumsily get to your feet. That hit must have been a hard one because the moment you stand straight the blood leaves your head and everything shifts to the right. “Yeah, I uh...” you don’t know exactly how to say ‘I fell out of bed trying to fight a demonic ass hole in my dreams’ without worrying him. You keep your hand over the wound, not knowing it’s bleeding through your fingers. Yeah, it’s that bad. Dumbass.  
You die a little inside when he flicks on the lights and the brightness floods your dizzying vision. You turn away from him quickly in hopes he doesn’t see how red and puffy your eyes are from crying so much, but you can hear his footsteps coming closer. “You okay? You didn’t answer my question...” his voice falters when he turns you around. His expression goes from worried to shocked to panicked all in a single blink when he sees the blood dripping from your fingers. “(Y/n), what the fuck?!”  
You take your hand from your forehead. “What? It’s just a scratch...” it’s your turn to get a nasty surprise when you see the mess on your fingers, and for a moment you’re brought back to your dream. They’re gone now, your fingers have been cut completely off and Crowley’s getting ready to do the same with your toes.  
Dean notices the panic in your eyes when they lock on your hand so he lifts your chin to snap you out of it. “Hey! What’s going on with you?!” and then, the pieces come together in front of him. “Oh, (y/n).....” he instantly swallows you in the tightest hug he can. “I’m so sorry.”  
Even though it feels amazing to be in his arms right now, you still feel the need to panic. He can’t know how weak you are. “I’m fine. Just a little mishap.”  
He lets you go and smooths your hair from it’s bed-crazed height. “Go sit down so we can take care of that cut, okay?” He doesn’t even let you answer before moving past you and into the kitchen in search for a first aid. “What happened, exactly?” he hollers as he gathers the things he thinks he needs.  
You go and sit at the table, back against the wall and knees curled up to your chest. Complete and utter embarrassment fills you from head to toe as you recap what happened in your head. The nightmare, the tossing and turning, the inevitable hit of your head against the table before the rest of your body slamming against the hard ass floor.   
When Dean comes back with a bowl of shit to try and use on your head, he sees the paleness of your face and the redness of your eyes, and how even though it’s subtle, you’re trembling in your own skin. He knows you’ve had another nightmare, and he knows by the upthrow of the fitted sheet on the bed that it caused you to launch from the mattress in some way. He sees how scared you are and how hard you’re trying to hide it. It hurts him.   
He pulls a seat up in front of you, immediately pressing a warm, damp washcloth to the small cut reaching from just above your brow. You wince and lean away from it a bit. Ignoring your silent protest, Dean cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer to examine the cut now that the blood is out of the way. “Don’t need stitches, at least...” he turns back to the bowl and grabs a tube of antiseptic and a bandage. “..so you never told me what happened.” after smoothing on a good layer of the antiseptic onto your cut, he places the bandage over it and smooths it out with his thumb. There’s already a great amount of bruising, no doubt it’s going to be worse tomorrow. His thumb traces down your temple to your cheek, where he swipes away a stray tear without a word.   
You sniffle and turn away from his hand. “It was nothing, just another bad dream.”  
“Oh, don’t give me that crap! There’s more to it and you know that!” he snaps back, dropping his hand.  
“Well, what am I supposed to say?” tears threaten again as Crowley keeps entering your mind. You just can’t get any damn peace.  
“I don’t know, maybe the truth?! Something’s going on with you, (y/n)! It’s obvious that you aren’t sleeping! You’re not eating, either, and don’t think I haven’t noticed! I know you’re hurting, (y/n), if you’d just talk to me, I’d....” Dean shakes his head and runs his hands through his bed-mussed hair. Now he’s getting emotional, now he’s letting his feelings for you get in the way of thinking. “You don’t deserve to hurt like this!”  
Dean’s voice cuts through you like knives and the walls you’ve built all around start to shake. You just want to sleep, you want to close your eyes without seeing the king of hell covered in your insides ready with a new toy to use on you.   
Your face drains of all color and your eyes spill over. There’s no use in hiding it now. “He’s just....he’s everywhere, Dean. EVERYWHERE.” you press your palms into your eyes so he doesn’t have to see you cry so hard. “I mean, he- he just doesn’t leave me alone when I sleep. You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to just SLEEP. But whenever I close my eyes I see him there, and I’m back on the table, all alone.” air catches in your throat, causing your words to croak like death. “I just want everything to end.” Your whole body racks with sobs and you can’t stop. You can’t speak. So you just cry.  
Dean doesn’t know what to say to make things better. He can’t find any damned words that would comfort you. Instead he scoops you up bridal-style and carries you over to the bed, hitting the light switch with his hip on the way over. He doesn’t bother straightening out the sheets, he just kinda plops you down, crawls in behind you, pulls the blankets over the both of you, and tucks you against his chest. You don’t leave your fetal-position, and it takes you a while to stop crying so much.  
And as you finally start to calm down and give into Dean’s strong arms there’s a sort of softness that envelopes you. This is what you need right now, this is what you want right now. “Thank you.” you whisper meekly. Even though you’re still hurting, a small smile plays at your lips when Dean places a kiss on the top of your head.   
“Anything for you sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes shoot open at his own words. “I mean, uh-”  
“-So I take it Sam is sleeping in the car tonight?” you ask quickly, just to keep things from getting awkward. Dean hugs you a little tighter to his chest as he remembers the heated fight he had with his brother. He doesn’t want to take you back to that place. He really, really doesn’t.  
“Yeah, guess he didn’t want to sleep in the same room as me.” as an afterthought, he adds “I wouldn’t want to sleep in the same room as me either.”  
Your head pounds like it’s got it’s own heartbeat, and each pulse sends agony through your skin. It’s probably going to get worse as the night progresses, not to mention the nice dark bruise you’ll see tomorrow.  
Neither of you talk because of how comforting the silence is, not to mention the vast sense of security you’re feeling due to Dean’s grip on your waist. His soft steady breaths lull you to sleep rather quickly. And it never leaves you, no matter how many times you wake up that night his arms are always clinging to you without a falter. Even when you’re shaken awake by Crowley’s harsh touch Dean’s cuddle is keeping you grounded.


	12. Nightmares (Part Three)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is up!

Castiel had been thinking long and hard about what you said, about how Agares had sought you out and made this deal with you. He can’t help but think that in at least one aspect of said deal that you were forced into it. The notion would give him some comfort, if not any.   
Currently the angel is crouched in a public garden - close by to the hotel - with his hand buried in the soft dirt of a rose bush. His other land leaves his thigh to rip a small section of the plant from the ground to shake it off briskly. He then proceeds to gingerly pluck off the thorns off every rose stem until safe to the human touch. The flowers themselves are a very off-red. Not necessarily your typical romance-worthy prop considering the slight wilt of the rose petals (probably caused by the cheap pesticide the Town uses) and the weak tilt of the stems that never grew strong enough. But the petals were still soft to touch and still recognisable as America’s national flower.   
The angel had been thinking long and hard about how he reacted to what you said about Agares. He honestly thought he was saving you, that his idea to break into hell and kill Crowley was going to bring you peace. When you had turned down the idea so forcefully a little part of him died inside because he had not prepared himself to be rejected by you - by the human he feels so confused over.  
In any case, even though you went behind his (meaning behind THEIR, if to include the Winchesters) back and struck a deal with this powerful demon, he feels incredibly guilty for just leaving like that. In hindsight he couldn’t quite figure out why he did what he did. The poor celestial being couldn’t figure out what an anxiety attack was even though that’s exactly what he had experienced when you looked the three of them in the eye and told them Agares and you have made plans to get to Crowley.   
Now that he’s calm and yearning to go back to see you, Cas has turned to using a method Dean taught him a while ago, which is the giving of flowers to a girl you’ve pissed off. Even if the flowers are shitty and technically stolen from a public recreational property.   
To make sure his token of affection doesn’t blow up in his face, he tries to tune into your thoughts to make sure you’re still awake. From past experience Cas has learned to never wake you up. Ever.   
But all he can hear is distressed cries and pleas that break through the connection between you two to stun Cas so hard he drops the mass of flowers and he disappears from the garden. He doesn’t care if he wakes you now. It needs to happen.   
The moment he shows up in your hotel room and see’s you still asleep but not at all okay, he pops up at your side and grabs ahold of both of your shoulders. He tries to shake you awake but you’re too far gone in terror. So he places his broad palm over your forehead...

Crowley gives you the sickest smirk he has, patting your knee with false cordiality. The cold bite of the table against your shoulder blades is back again to your own immense disdain. This time when he turns back around he’s holding two metal prods connected by electrical wiring. You try to fight against the cold straps keeping you down but they’re so tight. So, so very tight. He laughs and clangs them together a few times to show you how they spark. With a quirked brow, he comments “Shocking, isn’t it?” before taking both prongs and jamming them right on either side of your stomach.   
The pressure of your body convulsing is enough to make your body in reality curl its toes. Your nerves begin to go numb, the location of the prongs touching your skin starts to burn. Suddenly no air can pass through your lungs as they’re paralyzed from electrocution and all you can do is groan through the duct tape over your lips and cry even harder because he’s going to do it again.   
Just as Crowley raises the prongs to another section of skin on your torso, a blinding light fills the basement before your eyes snap open. The first thing you do is scramble up the bed until your back hits the headboard so you can look over the angel. You’re not in the basement anymore, you’re back at the hotel room.   
Even though the nightmare is over you can’t stop the heaving of your lungs for air or the complete overflow of tears. You just sit there, both hands having a vice-like grip on Cas’s wrist, trying to get ahold of yourself.   
And he watches you only for a second before speaking. His voice cuts through your anxiety with huge relief to you. “(Y/n), there is no need to cry. I....I am here, now. You are safe.”   
You clench your eyes closed and let go of his hand. With the initial panic of the dream gone you finally start to feel the impending ache of your temples from the force of which you were crying. You sniffle and rub your eyes dry on the blankets. “Where’d you come from?” you say groggily. Cas takes it upon himself to sit on the edge of your bed, taking one of your hands in both of his and fiddling with it in his lap.   
“I was in a garden, trying to clear my thoughts when I....” he leans closer to you, squinting and tilting his head. “Forgive me, but are you not well?”  
He takes note of how you cradle one of your temples with your free hand. “Yeah, I just got a little headache...”  
“I will be right back.” Cas drops your hand and gets to his feet, disappearing without another word. You almost let out a small whimper at the sudden emptiness of your hotel room. Before you can genuinely react to it, though, Cas reappears with a glass of water and two small white tablets in his palm. “Here. I read the label, and this should help.”  
Through your hazy eyes you smile up at him, taking the pills and water gratefully before downing both. He instantly takes the empty glass and sets it aside. “Thanks, Cas.” you whisper.  
There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again. “I wanted to apologize for my earlier actions. I should not have left when you told us about Agares.”  
You shrug. “It’s okay. I would have done the same thing.”  
“It is a strange thing, (y/n), how I felt when you said those things. My vessel had been doing strange things to me for a while now, but this? I can’t explain it.” he sits down on the edge of the bed again and looks at his hands. Like they’re something to sneer at, like they’re filthy.   
“It’s called being pissed off. I’m sure you’ve had past experiences with it.” you quip. Your head gently starts to calm down the more moments pass. You’re about to say something when Cas stands yet again.  
“Perhaps you’re right.” he turns and faces you with a not-quite-a-smile-but-also-not-quite-a-frown. “I should leave you to get some more rest. I could assist - if you’d like - and give you a sleep without dreaming.”  
Your heart drops completely at the thought of having to be alone again. You can’t be alone, not like this. So, even though you do so rather shyly, you ask “Do....you, uh, could you stay, Cas? Please?” For emphasis you slide over and motion to the room now on your bed. Your eyes burn again when you try to let out a bit of the truth. “I don’t want to be alone.”  
Cas searches your face for any read he could get. When he looks inside of you all he can see if hurt and dark emptiness. It breaks him. He nods, almost awkwardly climbing onto the bed and sitting upright against the headboard. You curl under the covers, packing the pillows against him and eventually using his shoulder as a pillow.   
He looks at you sidelong, watching how you get comfortable. He especially likes it when you snake your arms around one of his. Before you close your eyes, though, you notice a small speck of something red peeking out of the crease in his collar. You pull it out. “Cas?”  
“Yes?”  
“What the fuck is this?” you place the small rose petal in his hand, to which he sighs.  
“I picked you roses, but it seems I forgot to bring them in my haste.” after a moment's thought he hands the small dull petal back to you, meeting your eyes hesitantly. “They were supposed to be a token of apology.”  
You stare at the little rose petal with a huge ass grin playing your features. “Wow, Cas. I never picked you for the romantic type.” Castiel’s blush is so deep you can even make it out in the darkness. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School's still kicking my ass so things are going to get slow again...I anticipate the summer so at least I'll know I'd have time to write!


	13. A Series of Unfortunate Events

Hey guys - so, this isn't the next chapter in the story, and I'm really really sorry if you've been waiting a while for it...but, things at home have been extremely rough for me. I've had a fuckton of shit piled on me for a while now, and I've almost completely lost the will to write. I haven't attempted anything in over six months, and I'm afraid I don't think this dry spell will clear up any time soon. So, I've decided to stop with this story entirely, as well as any others that I had started. I'm sorry for those who really wanted to see how this story ended, for those who have waited so fucking long. I really wish I could have kept this going, but I have to take care of myself for a while. 

That being said, I will keep this story up for those of you who want to reread it at all, and maybe, if things get better for me, I'll try a second go at this story. I hope ya'll're doing okay, stay strong, don't let assholes take control of your precious life. 

If you're battling anxiety or depression like me, just remember that sometimes you gotta grab those stresses by the balls and twist. You're a mother fucking legend, and if anybody tries to tell you differently, just rub your mojo all over their sad little faces and carry on. 

Okay, chick-flick moment over.

<3


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